


legends only.

by falconeggs



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Ball Culture, F/M, Fluff, HIV/AIDS, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Multi, New York City, Paris is Burning, Period-Typical Homophobia, Trans Characters, Transitioning, Transman!Patrick, Transman!Ted, Transwoman!Alexis, Transwoman!Moira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconeggs/pseuds/falconeggs
Summary: 1987, New York. The House of Rose wins grand prize in every ballroom category they walk, always.





	1. one - showcase

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been churning within me for so long, I can’t stand it. I’ve been thinking about trans!Patrick since he got introduced on the show, and then I binged all of Pose in, like, two days, and, alas, here we are. (Seriously, watch Pose, it and Paris is Burning are on Netflix, you won’t regret it.) If you’re not down for reading trans material, than this fic is not for you and, uh, there’s the door, friend.
> 
> I tried to be as respectful as I could towards all sorts of trans and gay people as I could while also being era-appropriate, but this is the official warning that there are some slurs used throughout the entirety of this fic. Admittedly, yes, there is also some pan erasure, but I would argue that the phrase ‘pansexual’ wasn’t used much in the 80s? It’s not malintentioned, I promise. There are very heavy mentions of HIV, as it was the 1980’s, and a huge portion of the gay trans communities had it, and ignoring it within this tale would be incorrect. 
> 
> This work has been edited, by the only by me. I’ve done the best I can, but it won’t be perfect, so if you see any lil mistakes, just let me skate by. It’s pretty long, I know, but never in my life have I been accused of being concise. If something doesn’t make sense to you, or if you’d like a discussion, or if you just want to hang, you can find me @focksii on tumblr. Enjoy!

He hovers outside the club. The pulsing music is muted behind thick wooden doors, clearing up every time someone enters the building. Each bar of clarity makes him a little more nervous. This is a mistake, it has to be. He won’t fit in here, there’s no way he ever could. As magical as he’s heard this place is, it can’t possibly be so much so that it makes him forget about his lifelong feeling of being completely out of place.

The people that breeze past him with barely a glance his way are in incredible, fashionable clothes that suit their bodies. He’s in his plain, blue button-down shirt, one of two shirts he owns that actually makes him look the way he wants to, of four shirts total. Just inside those heavy doors is a place that is supposed to make him feel comfortable in his own skin, like he doesn’t need the duct tape wrapped tightly around his chest to make him feel okay. He’s enough of a rational man to know that there shouldn’t be any difference between in there and out here, but he hopes anyway.

Plus, he walked this far to get here. He did his research, and picked the date he knew there would be the most people, figuring there’s safety in numbers. He scraped enough money together to pay the cover charge, buy himself a drink inside, maybe have enough left over for a vending machine later. He’s already standing at the door. He’s made it this far. A few hours inside is better than those hours being spent outside, in the cold. With his backpack safely stashed away nearby, he hopes coming here tonight is worth losing a nice park bench to sleep on.

With a deep breath in, he lets his feet carry him towards the pulsing music. He holds the door open for two queens in sequin dresses talking loudly behind him about the ball they’re entering.

“Ooh, butch baby got some manners!” One of them coos at him, stroking his cheek affectionately as they pass.

“Thank you!” The other waves from inside, then drags her sister by the wrist towards the music. “C’mon, we’re gonna miss our category if you don’t move your ass!” And then, the queens are lost to the sea of people, gathered in the foyer.

A few stray eyes wander over him, but mostly they pay him no mind, so he ignores them and pushes through. He lets the crowd carry him past the stairs, through the atrium, and into the main part of the hall, each step increasing the volume of it all in his ears.

The hall is more magical than he could’ve imagined. It’s hot, and a little sweaty, and full of people who are all so different individually and more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He didn’t know so many kinds of people could exist in one place. The room itself is a huge, open room, packed tightly with the people who pilgrimaged here. A disco ball spins on the ceiling, casting little, dancing lights down onto the streamers that decorate the air around it. There is a balcony above, packed with onlookers, cheering for the event below.

On the platform at the end of the room is a well-dressed, very flamboyant emcee holding a microphone, and a table of judges beside him. The judges are holding up their score cards for whoever just walked the ball. “Nine, eight, eight, seven, nine!” The emcee calls out. “Some room for improvement, Miss Donna!”

Before he can get too distracted by the ball, he finds the bar in the corner. He flags down the bartender and orders a drink for himself. He needs something that will loosen him up, so he forgets how out of place he is. As he waits for his drink, he looks around at the crowd, calling out for the contestants. They’ve taken the opportunity to read some poor queen for filth for her outfit down the runway.

“The category is Angelic White!” The emcee calls to the queen on the runway. She argues back, shouting words that he at the bar can’t quite hear. “Uh, no, darling! That is bone. Maybe cream, at best! Your wig is lighter than your gown.” He waves his hand to shoo her off the runway. She huffs, but stomps away, the crowd dragging her as she passes.

“We are looking for only the purest of whites,” the emcee calls out. “I’m talking the Virgin Mary. I’m taking Sunday morning after a January blizzard. I’m talking the lines on Prince’s handheld mirrors, people! I have yet to see anyone bring it the way it should be brought. Will anyone be bold enough to take this category? I cannot bear to give Grand Prize to a girl can’t land a single ten. Is this what my ballroom has come to, children?”

The crowd begins to cheer, pitching louder and louder as more eyes turn to the mouth of the runway. There stands a young woman in shimmering white, posing as she captures the ballroom’s attention. She’s, by far, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, with soft blonde hair and tan skin. She’s elegantly tall and glittering under the lights, begging to be looked at. It would be a crime to peel eyes away from her.

“Oh!” The emcee gasps. “Young Aphrodite Herself has decided to bless our runway. Alexis of the House of Rose, show the children how it’s done!”

She, Alexis Rose, lets a slow smile spread over her face, and then she floats down the runway. She twirls, the perfect, white fabric draping expertly over her slight body, flowing perfectly with every stride down the runway. She is the perfect image of angelic, with long golden tresses woven into her hair, and her face and arms sparkling under the light. He believes it; she’s an angel. The crowd goes wild. They love her, snapping and calling and reaching for her. He at the bar can understand that. She’s beautiful and captivating. It takes him a few minutes, but he realizes that she’s like him, but the opposite. She has become the beautiful woman she was meant to be, and he still just looks like a dyke with a buzz cut.

Alexis takes the runway as her own, she stakes her claim on it. She lifts her leg and pisses all over it, because she can, she owns it all. She owns everyone and everything in this room; it’s her inheritance. Even he, who knows almost nothing about the ball scene, knows that her House is one of opulence; they are Legendary, after all. She stands before the emcee and the judges, posing for them. They fawn over her, one of the judges reaching over the table to fan her.

“Judges, what are your scores for Miss Alexis Rose?” The emcee prompts. They hold up their score cards. “Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten! Tens across the board! Grand Prize, Miss Alexis, from the House of Rose.”

Alexis clasps her hands together and tucks them under her chin, excitedly, looking more adorable than he’d expected her to. The judge that hands her the massive trophy and she exchange air kisses, then she does the same to the other contestants. She holds her prize above her head victoriously, and then, is escorted away. She’s gone just as fast as she arrived, the crowd missing her just as soon as she’s no longer on the floor.

He thinks to himself that he could belong to this someday. The people around him are bigger than life itself, but he’s not so different from them. Of course, comparing himself to Alexis, who passes better than anyone he’s ever seen, is like comparing a perfect, gigantic and shiny, red delicious apple to a runty, slightly misshapen orange, but at least he has the relief of knowing they’re both fruits. This is a wicker basket designed specifically to hold the fruits of the world, and he thinks it could probably fit a little clementine like him. He smiles to himself a little, hoping he’s found his place. He wants to. This is the first time he’s felt like he might have.

He finds the stairs to the balcony and walks up with his drink as he listens to the flamboyant emcee announce the next category. “The angels are all flown home to heaven now, baby,” The emcee announces into the microphone. “And where there are no angels left, you know what happens. Hell arrives.” The crowd cheers as the music shifts into a dance song with heavier bass. “The category is... The Devil’s Finest.”

As the first contestant takes the runway, he slots into a free space on the balcony, right in front, so he can watch it all. There is every kind of look, from every kind of person walking the runway. A muscular, shirtless man in a collar and leather pants struts down towards the judges for scoring, followed by a woman in a black, latex dress with a long, pointed tail she twirls in her hand. Demons and dominatrixes creep down towards the judges. Beautiful horrors walk the runway, embodying the category, letting the emcee have it.

It’s bizarre and everything he knows his parents would hate, but it’s also the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He sips his drink and cheers and smiles like he hasn’t done since he was a kid. It’s freeing, being here. He can see why so many of the street kids like him scrape money together to come here. He can see himself here again, next weekend, and the one after that, and every weekend after that.

“Nine, ten, nine, nine, ten!” The emcee calls a score put into the microphone. “Give it up for my darling, Miss Diamond Paradise.” The crowd cheers for her as she takes her place with the other contestants. “Is anyone else stepping onto my runway?”

At the end of the runway, a huge, dark figure takes the floor in slow strides. From this angle, he can’t see who it is. They’re holding up the edge of a long black cape to cover their body, building the suspense.

With a flourish, the cape drops, and there stands the most stunning man that he, up on the balcony, has ever seen. The man is in pants and a formal shirt in the same shiny, black fabric. His cape drapes past his feet, trailing out behind him. In his hand is a jeweled pitchfork, and on his head, around his raven black hair, is a golden crown of thorns. On his feet are some sort of strange high heeled boot, but without a heel to support, making his feet look like hooves.

“Has the Prince of Darkness, Himself stepped onto the runway tonight?” The emcee cheers excitedly, not that he needs to spur on the crowd. Even this man’s competition are cheering him on. He hasn’t even taken one step down the runway and he owns everyone. “Has our Dark Lord come to take us down to the Firey Depths with him? Do my tired eyes deceive me, or is that David from the Legendary House of Rose?”

The man, David, twists his mouth into a smirk, tosses his cape behind him, slams the end of his jeweled pitchfork into the floor with a thunderous boom, and walks. He on the balcony can feel the force of every step David takes, like the earth trembles beneath his feet. Of course, he’s in the same House as the goddess before, Alexis. They have the same, powerful beauty that can only come from being in the same House. The crowd loves him as much as they love his sister, kneeling to the ground and bowing for their Prince.

David takes his final stance at the end of the runway. He holds the ballroom in the palm of his hand, and then tosses it back down. He points, with his pitchfork, down the runway, where his Mother stands in a long, black, feathered gown, an enormous, golden headdress cascading down her back. It must be heavy, but she doesn’t seem to feel it’s weight.

“Ohh, I told everybody that tonight was a special night, indeed, and I have been proven right, yet again! Mother Moira has joined us on the runway tonight!” The emcee cheers loudly. From the way the phrase is said, he who watches can tell that this is not a regular occurrence. He knows that the Legendary Moira Rose doesn’t need to walk in the balls anymore. “The Queen of Night has arrived! Mrs. Rose?” She turns her head, just slightly, to regard the emcee. “Will you honor the children, and show them how it’s done?” She ponders the question for a moment, but spreads her arms in a flourish and takes a slow step onto the runway. The children scream for her.

David takes in the ballroom as all eyes are on his Mother. He loves to watch them love her. His eyes glide around the room, taking in the awe in the eyes all trained on Moira. David gets caught on one pair of eyes from above, still trained on him. He smiles up at the young man in the blue shirt on the balcony, just barely, his mouth twisting up to one side. He gives a twirl, adjusting his cape, then walks back up the runway to escort his Mother down to the judges.

Mother Rose wraps her dainty arm around his, and the pair make powerful strides down the runway. They walk together, posing expertly for the boys and girls that came in hopes for some scraps, and were fed an entire meal by the Roses.

He, who is watching from the balcony, can’t look away. He believes it. He knows in his soul that she is the Dark Queen that presides over this ballroom, and that David, beside her, is her son, the Prince. He knows it, just like he knew that Alexis had to be an angel. They are the most magnificent things he has ever seen.

“Judges, give us your scores,” the emcee prompts, turning away from the Roses to look at the judges. “Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten! Grand Prize, House of Rose!”

Moira pulls David in for a tight hug to celebrate their win. He hugs her back, laughing into her shoulder. She sends her son to receive their trophy for winning grand prize, deciding to greet the contestants that they just mopped the floor with. None of them seem to mind, just wanting attention from the great Mother of the House of Rose. David kisses the side of the trophy, then hands it to one of the little sisters, there to assist him.

Just before the Roses exit the runway, David looks up at the balcony. He meets the eyes he met before and gives a proud, smug smile. Up on the balcony, his stomach flips at the expression aimed at him. His breath catches, and tugs at the tape that binds his chest; it’s worth it. David tears his eyes away, only when his Mother drapes her arm with his and he is meant to escort her away like the good son he is. His eyes linger upwards until they absolutely can’t anymore, until he’s out of the main ballroom to go back to the House of Rose’s garment racks.

“We’re gonna take a break,” the emcee announces. “Go have a smoke. If you’re not tucked, take a piss. We’ll resume in twenty minutes, where the categories will be Femme Queen Evening Wear, Butch Queen in Drag, and High Fashion Performance. DJ Dancehall, play me some Diana Ross!” The DJ lets the current track finish before he mixes in Work That Body.

He looks down at his half empty drink and sighs softly to himself, then pulls back a step from the balcony. His mind reels from that look he was given. He’s never seen someone like that before. He wants to know everything about David Rose. There’s a big part of him that wants to fly down the stairs, to introduce himself to Mother Rose and ask for permission to even speak to her precious son, knowing that they’d probably eat that up. But the scared little boy inside him doesn’t want to get laughed at by the most Legendary House to walk in this or any ballroom. He turns and leans against the balcony railing with a heavy sigh. He used to be so good at being able to take charge. He doesn’t remember changing, but it must have happened at some point.

He’s resigned himself to a lonely life, but being here makes him feel a little less lonely. Maybe he’ll never muster the courage to speak to a handsome ballroom prince, but he had enough to gaze upon him. He of six months ago would’ve never had the courage it takes to be here, to witness this. He can suppose he’s taking charge of something.

But, as it turns out, he needs less courage than he thinks; someone else has mustered up enough on his behalf. David sifts himself upstream through the crowd that descends down the stairs for the bar. He touches the hands that reach out to him, but his eyes are trained to the young man in blue. As soon as he feels eyes on him, he turns and sees David drawing closer. He stands at attention, showing as much respect to David as possible. He’s taken off his cape and crown, and changed his shoes, but he looks even better up close. He’s real, he can see the hard edges of his face and his thick, clean eyebrows.

“Hi,” David says, as soon as he’s close enough, dipping close to say it into his ear.

“Hi,” he says back, smiling as brightly as he can. His heart is in his throat, but he doesn’t want to run. He wants to plant right here and grow in David’s light.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” David says. His voice is higher than expected, almost melodic, like he’s been rehearsing his speech.

He shrugs, but doesn’t let his smile drop. He’s never been so happy to have been talked to. “I’ve never been here before,” he explains, simply.

“Oh, well then welcome to the Showcase Ballroom,” David says, waving his hands around him like he owns the place. Well, maybe he does, if the way he holds this room is anything to go by. “Have you enjoyed your visit in our humble home so far?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Definitely,” he promises. “This is the best night I’ve had in a really long time.” As he thinks about it, he realizes this might be the best night of his life, period.

David’s lips twist to the side in that dangerous smirk. It’s even more attractive up close. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week,” he announces, and there’s weight behind it. “What’s your name?”

“Trish,” he says, mouth moving faster than his brain could allow. He droops as soon as the name is out of his mouth. He blames the drink, and the adrenaline, and his hunger. It sinks inside him. He’s already messed up.

David’s brows tilt upwards in surprise. “Oh,” David gasps. “I’ve never met a guy named ‘Trish’ before.” It swells inside him, like he’s a ghost being seen for the first time in a hundred years. David momentarily misunderstands the disbelief on his face. “Unless- you’re not a guy. In which case, I don’t mean to offend-.”

“No, it’s okay,” he chokes out, interrupting him. He takes a breath and steadies himself. He’s never been recognized as a guy before. “Patrick. My name is Patrick.” He’s only ever said those words out loud a handful of times, but they feel like silk every single time.

David relaxes, and smiles softly, a far cry from the dangerous smirk that played on his face a moment ago. “It’s very nice to meet you, Patrick,” he says, extending his hand. Patrick eagerly takes the hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m David.”

“David Rose,” Patrick recalls, nodding. He holds David’s hand in his own for a moment or two extra than absolutely necessary, then slowly lets go. “I know. I saw you walking. You were amazing! You completely killed the category. You deserved Grand Prize.”

David rolls his eyes at the praise, like he wasn’t expecting it. “Thank you,” he sighs.

“Those shoes you wore?” Patrick remembers, babbling at him. “Those- I’ve never seen anything like it! Where in the hell do you even buy something like that?”

“I made them,” David admits, as if he’s surprised that Patrick noticed them. As if Patrick didn’t notice every detail about this man.

“You made them?” Patrick asks, surprised by that answer. “That’s incredible! You just get more and more unreal.”

David gets a funny expression on his face, like he doesn’t know if that was a good thing, but he likes it. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he decides.

“Good,” Patrick nods. “I meant it as one.”

David smiles a little more at him, his chin jutting out proudly. “You’re sweet,” He says. “Can I get you another drink?”

Patrick bites his bottom lip, but powers through his heart pounding in his chest to nod at David. “Yeah,” he agrees, almost breathlessly. “Yeah, I would like that.”

David reaches out and takes Patrick’s hand again, dragging him down the stairs he’s just come from. “So, how long have you been in New York?” He asks, conversationally, glancing at Patrick as he leads him down the stairs.

“A couple weeks,” Patrick explains. “I was-. Uh. Well, I had to leave home, and I knew that this was the only place for someone like me.”

“A story I’ve heard a million times, you’re in excellent company,” David says, smiling at him, like he knows the struggle. He probably does. Everyone in this ballroom probably understands his struggle, because they’ve lived the same life. “So, then, where did you import yourself from?”

“Just outside of Toronto,” Patrick says. It feels like decades since he was there last, even if has just been a few weeks. He feels like a whole different man in New York, compared to the scared little boy in Toronto.

David smirks. “What, d’you sneak in the country or something?” He teases.

Patrick snorts and rolls his eyes as David leads him through the crowd. “No, my Dad is a citizen here, so I’m a dual citizen,” he explains.

“Well, then, welcome to America, I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay,” David says as he squeezes into the bar. A man is turning to tell him to fuck off, but sees that it’s the great David Rose, and gives him a little more room, instead. He pulls Patrick in by the hand to stand beside him, then flags down the bartender.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, just as he takes the opportunity to finish his drink and put his glass on the bar. “What about you, are you from New York?”

David nods as he turns his head to look back at Patrick. “Born and bred,” he assures. “Never been farther than Philly, and it was only the one time. The cheesesteak was good, but not worth the trip.” He scrunches his nose and shakes his head a little.

Patrick’s brows raise in surprise. David seems so worldly. “You never wanted to leave?” He asks. “See what’s out there?”

David shrugs, his eyes darting away under the investigation. Patrick can feel his hesitation, but he surprises him with an answer. “I have everything I need right here,” he says, looking back to Patrick. “The world comes here to see me. The other way ‘round never has to happen.”

That makes sense. The Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower don’t travel to be seen, and neither should David. Patrick had trekked five hundred miles to see David, and he hadn’t even known until they locked eyes. “You’re never curious?” He asks, anyway.

David smirks at Patrick, eyeing him up and down. “Oh, I can be very curious,” he disagrees. “But not about what goes on outside of New York. I’ve heard it’s the most tolerant place in the world, people like us flock to come here because this is the best place for us, and we still get spat on here. So no, I would say that I am not curious. There is not any part of me that needs to be exposed to that.”

Another excellent point made. Patrick tries to suppress his very impressed smile, but he must not do a good job, because David tilts his chin upwards proudly. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” Patrick says, letting his smile form fully on his face.

David grins and leans into his ear. “Don’t tell anyone, though,” he says. “That’s not information I need getting around.”

Patrick turns his head to lean into David’s ear. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he promises.

David pulls back just enough to rake his eyes over Patrick. “I’m sure it is,” he says, his eyes flicking back up to meet Patrick’s eyes. Patrick is saved from his flush being exposed, as David turns to look at the bartender who steps in front of them. His facial expression alone alerts Patrick to the fact that David doesn’t seem to like the guy behind the bar, who seems to like David quite a lot.

“Hi, David,” the bartender says, his low voice like velvet. He gives David a seductive smile, looking him over with lingering eyes. He’s gorgeous, with long, messy hair, chiseled features, and big, bright eyes. It twists Patrick up inside. How could he compete with this Adonis type? No chance. “You were excellent on the floor tonight.”

David rolls his eyes impatiently, blinking as he leans back from the bar. “Obviously,” he says, flippantly. “I’ll have a vodka soda.” He turns and looks at Patrick, a barely-there softness on his face. “And whatever my handsome new friend, Patrick, would like.” He puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. The touch sets Patrick on fire.

“Uh, I’ll do the same,” Patrick stammers, glancing at the bartender, who is only looking at David, then down to the bar. He leans into David’s touch, though. He never wants David to take his hand off of him.

The bartender extends a seductive smile to David, bobs his head in understanding, then walks away to make their drinks. Patrick finally looks back to David, who is already looking at him. “He’s, uh,” Patrick stammers, throwing a glance down to the bartender. “He’s a handsome guy.”

David doesn’t even bother to look at the bartender. “I guess,” he shrugs. “If you’re into that kind of look.”

Patrick turns to face David a little more completely. “He definitely likes you,” He comments, trying to find a little confidence.

“Of course he does,” David exhales as he rolls his eyes. “Sebastien is the ballroom bicycle,” he explains. “Just about everyone in here has taken a ride. He lures you in, and then throws you away, like you’re less than trash. I’ve watched him fuck his way through Houses like the plague. That is so not what I am interested in these days.”

Patrick grins at David’s turns of phrase. It makes him feel a little more secure in his footing as he inches closer to the towering man. “So, if tall, dark and handsome isn’t what you’re interested in, then what is?” He asks, with as much confidence as he can muster.

David’s lips twist to one side as he thinks for a moment. He then takes hold of both of Patrick’s shoulders firmly. He turns Patrick so he can face the mirrored surface behind the bar. “Right there,” David says, pointing at Patrick’s reflection.

Patrick frowns at his own reflection. That’s not the person he wants to see when he looks in the mirror. He’s not going to look this way forever. He doesn’t want to be disappointed in David’s expectations, or for David to be disappointed in Patrick’s singular desire to change. “I like cute-faced young men who are growing into themselves,” David explains in his ear. He looks so enamored with Patrick in their reflection. “Short hair, brown eyes, strong arms.” His hand runs slowly down Patrick’s spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Your clothes could be a little better, but I guess nobody can be totally perfect.” He looks from their reflection to Patrick’s face, giving him a small, secret smile.

Patrick stares up at David and everything else starts to fall away. His breath catches as he meets the other man’s eyes. He’s never felt so seen before. More than that, he’s never wanted to see someone else as closely as he wants to see David. He wants to stare into his eyes forever, to never be more than a breath away from him again. He sucks in a gasping breath and lets his head drop. He peeks up at David, who smiles almost fondly at him, with his lips tucked between his teeth.

“I wish I could see myself that way,” Patrick admits, very softly. “I feel like a guy, I know it, it’s the first thing in my life that’s right, but then, I look and-.” He looks at his reflection, at the girl with the buzz cut standing beside the most superbly stunning man, and grimaces at his own mismatched exterior. “He’s not there.”

David turns to look at Patrick’s reflection. His eyes wander over Patrick’s form in the mirror for an extended moment, his brows furrowed in concentration. It should be nerve-wracking, to have the most perfect example of a man to take stock of every detail of Patrick, but it’s not. It’s easy. The sweaty air that surrounds them is the easiest he’s ever taken in, by far. “No one is happy with their reflection,” he reasons. “All you can really do is appreciate what you already got, and work towards what you want to see.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows in disbelief as he looks at David in the mirror, then turns to look at him up close all over again. “You can’t be serious,” he says.

David’s face folds inwards in confusion. “What?” He asks, his head shaking back and forth as he tries to decipher what Patrick means.

“You expect me to believe that you don’t like your reflection?” Patrick asks, dryly. The concept of David being unhappy with any singular aspect of his image is downright wrong.

“I could stand here all night, staring at myself, picking scabs, and still not get through all the things I don’t like about myself, and that’s just on the outside,” David explains. Patrick shakes his head, chuckling, dipping his head in David’s direction. The little action makes David smile softly, in a way he doesn’t even realize he’s doing; it makes Patrick’s heart do a backflip. “We’re all the same, on the inside. Everyone in this room, shit, everyone in the world, wishes they could change something about themselves. You came to the best place in the world to become the person you were always meant to be. You’re already surrounded by people who want you to see the man in the mirror that I already see in front of me.”

Patrick swallows, blinking his eyes and looking away. It hits him for the very first time. He feels it. He clears his throat and blinks away the tears that prick the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, David,” he whispers, peeking his eyes to this miraculous prince.

David nods and exhales in a stream through pursed lips. “That got heavy,” he says, shaking it out. He half-turns down the bar, slapping his hand town on the surface twice. “Sebastien!” He calls, pulling the bartender from his flirting with someone else. Sebastian gives David a nod in recognition, then holds up a finger. “God, he’s the worst.” David sags against the bar, turning his head back to Patrick.

Patrick shakes his head, scrunching his face as he leans into David’s side. “Nah,” he disagrees with a smile. “He’s not too bad.”

David’s brows raise, and his lips purse in amusement. “I guess not,” David says, standing a little straighter to stand closer to Patrick. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Sebastien is right there, placing two drinks in front of them.

“On the house,” he announces, just as smoothly as before.

David grabs the two drinks quickly. “Obviously,” He sneers. He looks to Patrick, his lips quirking to one side as he passes him one of the drinks.

Patrick takes his drink with a bright smile, clinking his glass with David’s. He locks his gaze onto David’s eyes. “To you,” He says, the most confident thing he’s done all night. David tries to hide his smile in his glass as they sip together. As he swallows his gulp, Patrick turns his eyes to Sebastien, who is finally acknowledging that Patrick is there at all.

Sebastien is confounded by this exchange. He must have never seen anything like this from David. Patrick certainly hadn’t expected anything like this, though he didn’t exactly have any expectations at all. Sebastien stares at Patrick, his brows knitted in confusion. What kind of person could make David Rose respond this way? A new confidence punches through Patrick; knowing that this isn’t one-sided boosts him. He squares his shoulders, his brows lifting slightly. “Thanks,” He says to Sebastian, very evenly, looking him dead in the eye. He tilts his head down the bar, an obvious signal that he’s no longer needed, then turns back to David.

David’s lips are tucked between his teeth, and his eyes are glittering. He reaches over for Patrick’s free hand and pulls him in the direction they came from. “Let’s find a table somewhere a little quieter,” he says, tugging Patrick along.

Patrick nods eagerly, willing to follow him anywhere. David doesn’t need to drag Patrick along, because he’s right with him, holding onto his hand. God, Patrick hadn’t held hands with a boy since middle school, and this feels far more intimate than that ever had. Funny how childhood acts can feel so raw when you’re all grown up. Then again, Patrick is still growing. Maybe he’s still a kid, in some respects.

He follows David up the stairs, to the Mezzanine where they’d just met. They walk past the spot where Patrick had hung off of the balcony to see David, around the corner, to a table along the wall. David lets go of Patrick’s hand when they find an empty table, easily sliding into a chair that seems to be calling his name. Patrick is in the chair opposite him just a moment later, the two of them sharing a private smile as they settle into their seats.

“So, what do you do?” David asks, propping himself up on one elbow against the table.

Patrick leans into him, without really realizing it. “I work at the movie theater,” he says. It’s a far cry from what he expected from his life, having started business school in Toronto before he fled east. He likes his job, though, even if it’s unexpected.

“Really?” David asks, his lips twitching upwards on one side, like he adores that answer. He looks far more adorable than he has any right to be looking. “The movie theater?” David looks as though he’s just connected two dots.

“Is something wrong with that?” Patrick asks, almost shyly. He knows it’s not a glamorous position, but he hopes it’s not something that would turn David away from him.

“No, not at all,” David breathes. “That explains why you smell like popcorn.”

It makes Patrick blush. “Yeah,” he chuckles, dipping his head. “Concessions sucks, but it’s better than no job. Besides, my coworkers are cool, they mostly call me by the right name. You know. Treat me like one of the guys.”

David smiles, reaching a hand across the table to toy with Patrick’s long fingers. “I love the movie theater,” he says. “I used to watch movies all the time. My dad- he had this movie rental store. I’m pretty sure it went under eons ago, but. I loved it. I think I used to want to be a movie star but-. I’m far too flamboyantly gay to be a leading man, and the warm weather of Hollywood doesn’t agree with me.”

Patrick grins at the thought. He’d probably make an excellent movie star, he certainly has the flair for the dramatic. “I can already see you as the next James Bond,” Patrick teases, his own fingers weaving just as gently against David’s.

David snorts at the comment, rolling his eyes. “My god, can you imagine?” He snarks. “The Legendary David Rose, Action Star. Like, with one of those comically huge revolvers.”

“Like in one of those ‘20s gangster movies?” Patrick asks, trying to imagine David holding a gun. It’s a weirdly attractive mental image, if Patrick’s being completely honest.

“Yeah, just like that,” he said. “Or maybe something more up-close-and-personal. Like a machete.”

Patrick chuckles, scooting a little more foreword in his seat. “What about a flail?” He asks, grinning up at David.

“What’s that?” He asks, his face twisting slightly in fond confusion.

“The Medieval thing,” Patrick explains. “The ball with spikes on a chain, attached to a stick.”

“That’s called a flail?” David asks, surprised that anyone, but especially Patrick, would know that.

“What did you think it was called?” Patrick teases.

David shrugs, but his mouth is twisted up to one side, an expression Patrick can recognize now as a smile. “If someone had told me that the name of that particular weapon had been lost to time, I probably would’ve believed them,” he said with some certainty behind it. “Maybe I’m not as smart as you think.”

Patrick smiles and shakes his head. His fingers interlock with David’s slowly, on top of the table. “Smarter,” he promises. “And I’m sure you’ll never run out of other kinds of surprises for me.”

Patrick can see the way David bites the inside of his cheek, trying to not break into a huge smile. Patrick wants to see it, to see his perfect, white teeth, and faint smile lines, and little glimpses of David blissfully happy in ways he doesn’t usually allow himself to be. He knows David feels like he has some sort of unaffected reputation to uphold. Patrick is happy to accept these half-smiles, because he knows it’s a hell of a lot more than the likes of the Ballroom Bicycle receives from David.

“Are you hoping to continue to be surprised by me?” David asks, his voice low and flirtatious. His eyebrows crease slightly with his voice.

“As many surprises as you’re willing to give me,” Patrick promises with a nod.

David covers his smile with his hand, his eyes darting away from Patrick, just for a brief reprieve from Patrick’s tender gaze. If he weren’t so razor sharp looking, he might be considered bashful. “Be careful what you wish for,” he says, dropping his hand away from his face to pick up his drink and take a sip.

Patrick chuckles and takes a sip of his own drink. He lets his eyes linger on David for a moment, smiling to himself, into his drink. He throws himself back into conversation with David, losing track of the time. They talk about everything and nothing with an easy back-and-forth. No one has ever taken such delight from Patrick’s teasing before. No one’s ever been able to serve it back with such absurd wit. With every word volleyed between them, Patrick’s heart flutters a little more. David isn’t like anyone else in the world, he’s so much more. It feels freeing, just to talk with him, share a drink with him, play with the rings on his fingers.

They get lost in each other. They lose track of time and space, enjoying the company the other man brings to the table. They only get distracted when someone stops at their table and clears their throat to grasp the mens’ attention. They tear their eyes off of each other to look up, and there stands the Legendary Mother Herself.

“Oh, god,” David breathes, tensing ever-so slightly.

“David,” she greets her son politely, her voice higher than Patrick would’ve expected. It must be a family trait for the House of Rose. “One or two of the little budlings were saying something about how you whisked away some adorable newcomer that had Sebastien Raine practically quivering in his boots. I simply had to see why everyone was making such a fuss.”

She turns her eyes to Patrick, and her gaze is nearly as icy as their hue. His breath catches in his lungs in mild fear. He’s quick to stand and extend his hand to her. “My name is Patrick, ma’am,” he says. It flushes warmth through him all over again. Will something as simple as saying his own name ever lose its thrilling edge?

Moira’s freezing look thaws, just slightly, in surprise. She daintily accepts his hand, slipping hers within his like a 17th century noblewoman. “Patrick,” she repeats, a smirk tempting to form on her face. “Charmed, I’m sure. Pardon my prying, it’s not terribly often my darling son finds a sight he deems worth viewing.”

Patrick lets out a surprised laugh, ducking his head to smile to himself. He glances at David, who has his horrified face half-hidden behind his hand. His eyes dart back and forth between Patrick and his Mother. “Well, it’s an honor just to be seen by him,” he says, and he really, really means it. Moira may only be the Queen of this ballroom, but they’re royalty, all the same. His eyes fall back onto Moira, then dart to the floor, as though he’s unable to personally take in her visage.

Moira tilts her chin upwards, her eyes glancing from Patrick to David, then back to Patrick. “So long as you remain aware of that fact, I can assume you’ll run into no issues with my David,” she says, a friendly hand coming to touch Patrick’s bicep.

“Okay,” David interrupts, not liking any singular, spare moment of this, standing up quickly to lean on the table. “I am interested in continuing to view this scenario,” he gestures at the two of them with an open hand, “for exactly zero minutes and zero seconds further. So. This is your official notice to cease and desist.” He gives her a pointed stare to get her to leave, but she hasn’t bothered to turn her eyes towards him, her sights still set on Patrick.

“I would appear my eldest is feeling a tad perturbed,” she tells Patrick, like he’s not very aware of that. He nods, understandingly, casting an amused glance David’s way. “He has a flair for histrionics, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Patrick says, fondly, smiling over at David, who glances quickly between he and his Mother, like he can’t quite understand why this is happening to him.

“It’s been darling to meet you, sweet Pat,” Moira bids farewell.

Patrick beams at the compliment. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Rose,” he promises. When will he ever get the chance again to meet a Queen?

She glances at David, who is still bewildered that she’d trekked up the stairs at all, and raises her brows at him, just a hair. Had he known any better, Patrick might’ve caught a whiff of her smile. “Be ready for our next category, David,” she says. Then, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of her adoring fans.

Patrick’s eyes turn to David, who is glaring in the direction his Mother retreated. “I’m so sorry,” David apologizing, turning wild eyes towards Patrick. “That was the most mortifying thing I’ve been subjected to since the first time I walked.”

Patrick chuckles and shakes his head. “No, no,” he disagrees. “It’s okay. I think it’s nice.”

“Nice?” David balks.

“Yeah, it was nice of her to come up here and check on you,” Patrick says. “It’s nice to know that someone has your back.” David lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relaxing slightly. “She has a way with words, doesn’t she?”

They sit back down at the same time, David sagging dramatically into his chair. His fingers come up to press his eyes. “That’s certainly one way to say it,” he groans, sitting up a little straighter to look at Patrick. “You took that very well. No one really knows how to handle her. Then again, no one usually has to on their first night in the ballroom.”

Patrick grins, a warm smugness settling into his blood, mixed with the alcohol, and something else he can’t quite name. “Apparently, I am a very special case,” he teases, leaning foreword, just slightly. “Or, so I’ve heard.”

David face contorts between mixing emotions, spiraling between embarrassment and amusement. “You’re something, I’ll give you that,” David settles on, with a smile. He looks in the direction his Mother wandered off to and sags, just slightly. “I have to go get changed for my next category.” He turns his eyes back to Patrick. “Are you staying?”

Good Lord, Patrick wants to say ‘yes’, to this and everything else David asks of him. He never wants to walk out of this ballroom and back out into the cold world. But Patrick is a man who is very aware of his reality. He doesn’t want to look down at his watch, but he does anyway, and it’s much later than he’s anticipated on being here.

“I have to work in the morning,” he tries to explain. “And I have to find a place to sleep before that. My usual spots are probably taken by now.” He feels embarrassed to admit it to David, that he sleeps under bridges and on park benches. A Legend such as him probably doesn’t care to spend too much time with a street kid.

Disappointment and understanding wash over David’s face in equal measure, which warms Patrick in a weird way. “Okay,” He nods. He’s not used to being told ‘no’, but he’s happy to respect this boundary. “Will I see you here again?”

Patrick nods quickly, smiling brightly at David. “Yes, definitely,” he promises. “You’ll see me as often as you want to.”

David smiles, a real smile this time. His teeth poke out and his eyes crease in the corners. It makes Patrick’s heart go into overtime, but he never wants to look away. “If that were true, you’d be staying,” he says, boldly. “At least say you’ll finish your drink with me.”

Patrick nods in agreement, glad to have the excuse. He never wants to take a sip, so he can stretch out this moment. “I think I can manage that,” Patrick teases right back.

David lifts his glass, a gentleness warming his features as he looks over Patrick. “To being better men,” He toasts.

Patrick smiles at the words, his glass tinkling gently as he taps it to David’s. He watches through his sip as David darts his eyes away, like he’s somehow not used to attention being on him.

“Can I ask you something?” Patrick requests, drawing David’s sparkling eyes back to him. His thick, neat brow raises in patient expectation. “How did you know-? No one has ever just known before. You knew.”

David bites his lip. “The square of your shoulders,” he says. “The way you stand is very masculine. And then I got closer and I saw your tape. Most people I know who bind with tape when they’re not walking are baby boys who don’t know better.” Patrick blushes and ducks his head. “Not that that’s a bad place to be! Everyone starts somewhere, right? How can you know if no one tells you?”

Patrick looks up at David and feels a little more secure. He has a question on his lips that he bites back; even after the alcohol loosening him, he can’t bring himself to ask. It feels too rude to ask.

“I’m not,” David cuts in, answering the question on his lips. “Transsexual, I mean. Obviously, I have absolutely no problem with being transsexual, I just happen to not be. I’m just a gay man.”

“Oh,” Patrick breathes. Of course. A gay man in a gay club makes sense. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up so high. Then again, David’s interest seems so genuine. He’d been toying with Patrick’s fingers the whole time. The phrase leaves Patrick more confused than ever. “If you’re gay, then why do you like me?”

David’s brow furrows, tilting his head to the side. “I’m pretty sure we went over this with the mirror,” he reminds. “Though, the shirt is growing on me, the more I look at it. It’s very nice on your frame.”

“But I’m-?” Patrick can’t say the word. He can’t force it out.

“A man,” David fills in. “You know you are. Right? And I know you are. And, for real, you’re a special kind of catch, aren’t you? You’re an attractive, confident man with a job and a sense of humor. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a man like that? In this economy?” David scoffs and shakes his head. “You have no one to blame but yourself for piquing my interest.”

Patrick lets out a breathless laugh that is equal parts surprised and relieved. He hadn’t considered the fact that being a man would make him attractive to gay men. To have how David feels laid as bare as he’d willing to allow is an empowering feeling. “Blame?” He asks, still teasing, thankful for the mood lifting.

“What, now you’re getting picky about my word selection?” David teases right back. Or, maybe he is a little annoyed by Patrick, but he must like getting ribbed this way.

“I, personally, wouldn’t use a word with a negative connotation when describing anything about how I met you,” Patrick says, unable to hold back his inner smartass. “But, hey. I’m no expert. I’m not as verbose as the House of Rose.”

“Verbose,” David repeats, feeling the word in his mouth, smiling around it. “I don’t know about that, you seem to be doing just fine on your own. I find that the only people who use the word ‘verbose’ are, themselves, rather loquacious.”

Patrick grins at the adjective, his brows raising at the accusation. “So, when you joined the House of Rose,” he says, “did they give you a vocabulary list on entry? Or did you learn via osmosis, just from being around your Mother?”

David smirks. “It’s a large booklet of words, actually,” he teases right back. “It has all the ballroom terminology, a ton of Shakespearean words with definitions, a directory of fashion designers, and twelve pages of dress patterns.”

Patrick lets out a laugh, glad to be teased. He’d take any little bit of attention, honestly. “What else could you need?” He jokes, rhetorically. He looks into his glass and notices he doesn’t have much left, which means he’ll be leaving soon. He wishes he could hold onto this forever. He looks up at David and lifts his glass. “To your vocabulary.”

David grins widely at Patrick, and it makes Patrick dizzy. He thought he was handsome when David was walking down the runway; now, he’s the sun, so radiantly bright he leaves Patrick warm in his glow. “To yours,” David returns, clinking his glass with Patrick’s. “May you grow into being preposterously pleonastic.”

David grins into his last sip, at the look at Patrick’s face. “Okay, now I’m going to have to get picky about your word choice,” Patrick snarks. “I’ve never even heard that word before. Pleo-. What?”

“Pleonastic?” David asks, tilting his head to the side. “What, you don’t have any two dollar words in your back pocket?”

“Two dollar, sure, plenty,” Patrick grins. “Pleonastic is upwards of twenty, easy.”

David’s shoulders raise to his ears in an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say?” He swans. “We Roses are very refined.”

“Refined,” Patrick parrots, a shit-eating grin on his face.

David waves his hand towards himself, challenging Patrick lightheartedly. “Come on, give me your best, twenty dollar word,” he challenges. “I can take it.”

Patrick’s grin stretches so wide, it pulls at his cheeks. “Ostentatious,” he decides on. David’s eyes narrows, but he nods in appreciation for the word. “Cantankerous.” David jerk’s backwards, his eyes wide in shock. His jaw dangles, wordless at the accusation. “Pulchritudinous.”

David’s brow furrows as he looks at Patrick, hesitating. “I don’t know that one,” he admits.

“I’m sure it’s in the booklet,” Patrick snarks. He lifts his glass and takes the last of his drink down the hatch; to his vocabulary, and to stumping David Rose.

He knows that if he doesn’t go now, he’ll get caught in another drink, and stay for who knows how long, and never find a place to sleep. It’s not a place he wants to be tomorrow. Leaving and sleeping is a stronger urge than the one to stay. So, his always logical, take-charge brain forces his mouth to say, “I should probably get going.”

David nods his head in understanding. “Yeah, if I don’t go get changed soon, my Mother might have a fit.” Patrick realizes that they’ve started calling the categories. He hasn’t even noticed, too caught up in David. “It was really nice meeting you tonight, Patrick.”

The name washes over him like a warm wave. He wants to hear David say his name over and over again. This feeling could never possibly get old. An open, honest smile captures Patrick’s face, his eyes twinkling at David. “It was really nice meeting you, too, David,” he agrees, almost shyly, nodding his head. It doesn’t begin to cover what he feels. As many words as he has, he could never articulate quite how life-changing David is. “Can I walk with you to the clothing racks? I’d like to see your outfit, even if I don’t get to see you walk.”

David squeezes his eyes shut, but nods quickly. “Yes, I think that’d be alright,” he blurts out, while trying to remain nonchalant. He opens his eyes, letting them dart around the decor before landing on the man opposite him. Patrick sees right through it; there is absolutely nothing about David that is nonchalant. “I mean, we don’t usually let outsiders see the garments before they’re on the runway, but. I suppose I can make an exception for you.” He shakes his head and sniffs, like he’s still trying to gather his wits. It’s the sweetest thing Patrick’s ever seen. “You can owe me a free popcorn.”

Patrick grins and nods. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he agrees. He extends his hand, and David quickly takes it to shake, to seal their silly deal. Their hands linger within each other, neither wanting to let go.

With their hands still clasped together, they stand at the same time. After minor adjustments, they walk, hand-in-hand, down the stairs. It’s an interesting experience, to walk through the ballroom with David Rose, Beloved Ballroom Prince. The crowds seem to know when he’s coming, reaching out to him, that his grace may rub off on them, even a little. They reach out to Patrick, too, because he’s there, because David has never had so many stars in his eyes before.

When they walk past the runway, David slows their pace, so that he can watch. Those on the runway are voguing, an incredible, impressive battle. Their moves are knives, cutting each other up, reading each other without words. It’s fascinating to watch, and David cheers for the contestants, snapping as they pass by.

“It’s my favorite category to watch,” David says, loudly, leaning into Patrick’s ear to be heard over the music and crowd and emcee. Patrick can see why. It’s tense and loud and riveting.

David pulls Patrick along to the mouth of the ballroom. He, quickly, gets distracted by a pretty young woman about to step in. From her clothes and effortless radiance, Patrick can tell that she’s one of David’s little sisters. David lets go of Patrick’s hand to sprint the few steps to her side. He says something to her as he adjusts her outfit into a more flattering position, but Patrick can’t hear the exact words as he approaches.

“You’ve got this,” Patrick can hear David say as he inches closer. He tosses her long, dark hair over her shoulder for her as she exhales, centering herself. “Kill the bitch, T.” She looks David in the eye, and Patrick watches her inflate with courage. She breezes past everyone and grasps a hold of the ballroom the only way the Roses know how.

Patrick gets distracted by her moves. As good as the others are, she has a certain precise strength to her poses. She reads the voguers for filth without hardly opening her eyes at all. It’s art like Patrick has never seen it: volatile and beautiful all at once. He jumps a little when David steps behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” He beams, proudly. “She’s going to change the world with her dancing, all the children copy her moves. She just needs a little confidence boost, but who can’t that be said for?”

Patrick smiles and nods, looking away from the little sister to David. “She’s incredible,” he agrees. “If anyone can give her a little confidence, I’m sure it’s you.”

David rolls his eyes, fighting off a smile Patrick just barely picks up on. “Alright, Mister Flattery,” David snarks, sliding his hand right back into Patrick’s. “Let’s go before I get distracted again.”

He tugs Patrick away again, as though Patrick isn’t already willing to follow him to the edge of the world. He pulls them through the crowd, and up a few flights of stairs. David shoves his way through people who apologize for being in his way. Patrick gives them all soft smiles, like he’s happy just to be around all of these people.

Finally, they arrive at three garment racks, jam-packed with costumes and gowns. The ensembles are squeezed air-tight onto the rack, bursting through the metal rods. David sees his outfit in the sea of colors and textures, knowing just what he was looking for. He pulls a hanger down, having to drop his hand from Patrick’s in order to do so. He fights with the rack, just a little, before the outfit emerges. It’s a deep, dark gray suit, nothing terribly fancy as far as Patrick can see, but David pulls out a heavy fur coat in a luxurious, sparkling white along with the suit.

“The category is Executive Realness In A Fur Coat,” David explains.

Patrick smirks as he looks from the coat to the man who holds it. “Concise,” He teases. “You’re going to look incredible in this. It’s almost as striking as you.” He wants to gravitate closer to David, but he’s endlessly worried about ruining the beautiful, most likely insanely expensive fur coat before it can win David another grand prize. “I don’t need to see you walk to know you’ll get tens across the board, and take home another gigantic, well-deserved trophy. I just know it.”

David closes his eyes and tilts his head back, taking a small step backwards, like the force of the compliment has physically moved him. He clears his throat, and hangs the garments back up. “That is quite possibly one of the kindest things anyone’s said to me,” he admits, softly, peeking his eyes at Patrick. “Um, so thank you. For that. Very sweet.”

Patrick smiles and nods his head, just barely. Just as he’s planning on saying something that would have been, most likely, very smooth and flirtatious, someone cuts in between them. He forces his eyes to turn at the intruder, and is shocked to find another of David’s sisters standing there. This time, it’s the first of the Roses that Patrick had ever seen. Even up close, Alexis exemplifies femininity in a way that is so breathtaking, it nearly knocks the wind out of him the way the word threatens to. She is, however, a great deal taller than he expected.

“Hi,” Alexis butts in, smiling flirtatiously at Patrick. “You must be Patrick. Everyone is very interested in you tonight.”

“Oh, my god,” David complains in an exasperated sigh, bewildered eyes trained to Alexis.

“Uh-.” Patrick can’t do anything but stammer. She is far less polite about his personal space than their mother was.

“My name is Alexis,” she introduces herself, pointing to her ‘A’ necklace, which Patrick still has to look slightly upwards to see. “It is super nice to meet you. I don’t mean to bug, but you are just the cutest little baby to walk in here in a very long time.” She places a delicate hand on Patrick’s bicep.

“Thank you?” Patrick squeaks.

“What are you doing?” David glares at his sister.

Alexis looks at David as though she’s been falsely accused, completely innocent. “I’m just introducing myself to a potential new friend, David,” she makes him aware with an intense stare of her own. “Is it a crime to want to make a newcomer feel welcomed in his community?”

“Uh, thank you, Alexis, that’s really kind of you to say,” Patrick musters up enough sense to stop bumbling and attempt a good impression. “You’re-,” he glances at her dainty fingers, still on his bicep, “definitely welcoming.” His eyes dart to David, who has an angry angle set into his jaw, directed at Alexis.

Alexis tucks her lips between her teeth, her bright blue eyes widening I’m surprised amusement, an expression he’s seen in David’s face, too. It makes Patrick wonder if they’re really siblings. “Mkay, well, if I want to take this category, I need to get going, I just wanted to make a quick stop to say hello,” she says, super smoothly. She turns from Patrick to her brother. “David, you need to get changed.” She points between he and his outfit, very quickly, maintaining eye contact as she walks away from them. From behind Patrick’s back, she gives him a wide grin and an ‘okay’ symbol with her hand.

“Thanks so much! For that! Hey, don’t trip and fall down the stairs!” David calls, cheerfully after her. She groans, barely audible as she walks down the staircase.

Patrick can’t help but chuckle at the interaction. He had no idea his time here would capture so much attention, especially from the House of Rose. It’s a nice confidence boost, if nothing else.

“I should go,” Patrick breathes, but he takes a short step towards David. “I’ll see you soon.”

David bites his lower lip, and nods, a bashful wash settling over his body. “Yes you will,” he agrees with quiet certainty.

They linger by each other for an extended moment before Patrick gathers enough nerve to lean in an press a soft kiss to David’s cheek. David leans right in, his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick can feel his smile against his lips. He pulls back, but before he can go too far, David brushes a soft kiss against his lips. It sends electric bolts through Patrick, his heart kicks into overdrive. His hands reach around to find David’s waist, brushing past the soft fur coat. David’s rings feel right, pressed against the skin of his neck.

When they slowly pull away, and Patrick looks into David’s dark, sparkling eyes, he feels alive for the first time. His feet are cemented to this spot. What was so important before? What would possibly make him leave right now?

David smiles, that rare, open smile that is rumored to just be for Patrick. “I’ll see you soon,” he reminds Patrick, his voice warm and soft.

Patrick smiles and nods in agreement, slowly taking a step back. He and David’s hands linger on each other as he slowly steps towards the stairs. “Break a leg,” he winks as their fingers let go.

“Bye,” David mumbles, not looking away until Patrick is no longer in sight. He stairs at the mouth of the stairwell, longing for his boy in blue to come back. He barely registers someone coming up beside him. He flinches when he realizes his Mother is right there, nearly breathing down his neck. “Jesus, Dracula, warn somebody before you sneak up on them like that.”

“I like him,” she says, like it’s some sort of sage wisdom.

David sags. “I need to get changed,” he complains.

She nods curtly at him, understanding that he’s on her very strict time schedule. “We’ll discuss your new paramour when we get home,” she agrees. He doesn’t completely know if he wants to do all of that, but he won’t be able to worm his way out of it.

Before she can walk downstairs to watch the runway, he reaches out to grasp her arm. “What does ‘pulchritudinous’ mean?” He asks her, then looks to meet her eyes.

Moira pulls on a curious gaze, her head tilted to one side. “Breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful,” she explains. Her curiosity shifts to knowing, a small smile forming on her perfectly painted lips. “I like him very much.” Before he can breathe another breath, she leaves her son to get changed.

David smiles into the clothing rack as he pulls the rest of his ensemble. The light that bubbles forth, light he had no idea existed within him, couldn’t be contained, even if he tried. “Me, too,” he agrees, no more than a whisper to himself.

Outside, Patrick snags his backpack from the bush he’d stashed it in. As he loops his arms through the straps, he casts a longing glance to the ballroom he’s just vacated. He looks up to the frosted windows and lets out a soft laugh. He claps his hands, just trying to get out some of this excess energy, and starts to walk down the street. He’s giddy as he adventures to find a place to rest; it makes the trek a little more bearable. He jumps up and greets the trees, bending down to say hello to him.

Luck is on Patrick’s side tonight, it would seem. After the first two spots revealed themselves to be duds, Patrick decides to check his favorite spot, and is given a gift. There’s one bench left on the pier a block or two from the theater. It’s the shortest of them all, and it’s next to the garbage can, but it’s better than no bench at all. He curls up on the bench with his coat on, backpack underneath it, his head on the opposite end from the trash.

The sounds of the city and the water don’t phase him. He’s rocked to sleep by the feeling of David’s stubble against his cheek, to the soundtrack of the ballroom, with a whole new feeling stitching itself into his very being. The few stars above him almost remind him of David’s eyes. He dreams of dark Princes with a smile on his face.


	2. two - house of rose

Not a lot of people come to the movies at lunchtime on a Tuesday. It’s the kind of predictability Patrick picked up quickly, and has come to like about his job; he knows when people like to go to the movies. He also knows the manager likes to put him on the day shift, even if he’s one of the better employees, because he’ll interact with the least amount of customers. It’s rude, but Patrick gets it. On Tuesday afternoon shifts, like this one, it’s just Patrick and Oscar working behind the concessions counter.

Oscar had decided to take a smoke break just before a bunch of customers came in, leaving Patrick to fill popcorn bags and soda cups on his own. He doesn’t mind, though, he likes the busy work. It makes an already slow shift move a little quicker. Maybe the customers aren’t pleased there’s only one person working, but they’ll get over it before they’re even in their seats. The line, at least, has dwindled down to its last person waiting to be served.

He hands a bag of popcorn to the customer and wishes then a good movie experience, and then the last person in line is in front of him. Patrick’s eyes widen in deep surprise, but a very pleased grin spreads across his entire face. “What are you doing here?” He asks, brightly, not expecting to see the Prince of his dreams standing before him while he’s at work.

“Well, I’ve been dying to see Dirty Dancing,” David explains, a smirk playing on one side of his perfect mouth. “And I believe I was promised a free popcorn.”

Somehow, Patrick’s smile gets even wider. There are three other theaters between here and the ballroom, and they both most likely know that. David came all the way here to see Patrick. It spreads a warmth through Patrick.

“That you were,” he agrees with a nod, taking a step back. He grabs a bucket and sidesteps to the popcorn machine. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I expected you to be at the first two movie theaters I went to today, so I think we both have some adjustments to make,” David teases. “I learned all about movie ticket refunding today. I also learned that movie theaters are open before three pm. Who knew?”

Patrick chuckles as he fills the bucket. “The first showing is at ten,” he explains.

“Ten?” David asks, his expressive brows raising. Patrick didn’t know he could miss a set of eyebrows; he didn’t know he already did until he got to see them emote for their wearer again. “You’re here and already working and serving customers at ten o’clock in the morning? People actually come to see movies that early?”

Patrick’s brow furrows, extending a puzzled look to David. “Do you know that most of the professional world considers this particular part of the day ‘the afternoon’?” He snarks. He knows David probably didn’t get home until very late, and this is probably the first thing he’s done all day.

David’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head in confusion. “What, does something usually happen before this?” He jokes. David is clearly not an early riser; Patrick knows he should take note of that.

Patrick grins as he slides the bucket of popcorn and a bag of Reece’s Pieces across the counter to David.

“Don’t I feel special?” David announces, softly, smiling at Patrick. Patrick is treated to a delightful surprise of dimples, buried under David’s stubble. He wants to see those dimples again. David examines Patrick as closely as he can, with the counter separating them. “When are you done with your shift?”

Patrick huffs as he turns to look at the clock behind him. “About two hours,” he sighs, looking back to David.

David’s eyes roll as he smiles, slightly. “Perfect,” He says. He grabs his bucket and his candy and slides them closer as he takes a step back. “I’ll see you after the movie. And then we could go do something?”

Patrick nods eagerly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That’d be great.” David nods as he takes another step back slowly, towards the screening room he’s been assigned. “Enjoy your movie.”

David lets his eyes linger on Patrick as he walks away. Patrick simply refuses to tear his eyes away, until David has turned the corner and gone into the theater. Patrick ducks his head and smiles a little to himself. David Rose had sought him out so they could see each other sooner than the promised weekend. That was unexpected, but more delightful than anything else Patrick had ever experienced. The laugh that bubbles forth is just as unexpected, but necessary; holding so much joy inside with no release can’t be healthy.

“Yo,” Oscar croons lowly, out of nowhere. He comes up from behind and grasps Patrick’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “You’re the little dude everyone’s been talkin’ about since Saturday? That’s fuckin’ dope!” He talks like he’s in on a very exciting secret.

“What?” Patrick asks in confusion. He tries to shake Oscar off, but can’t seem to free himself from his co-worker’s joyful grasp.

“Bro, everybody’s been talkin’ about some dude that had David Rose swoonin’ at the Showcase this weekend,” Oscar informs. “No one knows who he is.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick asks, still reeling. “How do you know anything about the ballroom gossip? You’re straight?”

Oscar tilts his head up in a smug grin. “I’m an equal opportunity lover,” he explains. “And, everyone in this neighborhood knows at least a little about the House of Rose, they’re Legendary. Even a newcomer like you. I mean, especially you, huh?” He punches Patrick playfully on the shoulder, then slings an arm around him. “How’d you do it, man?”

“Do what?” Patrick asks, still confused by this whole situation. People in the ballroom knowing that David doesn’t extend a lot of attention to others makes sense. Oscar knowing, and hearing about Patrick this weekend, makes exactly no fucking sense.

“Get someone like David Rose!” Oscar explains, like that means something.

Patrick shakes his head, his eyes instinctively going to the door of theater 4, where David is currently watching Jennifer Gray and Patrick Swayze dance and fall in love. “I didn’t get David,” he disagrees. Because David isn’t his, not yet. And, honestly, it’s not the truth. “He got me. As soon as I saw him, I was done for.”

Oscar gives him another shake. “I didn’t even know that David knows how to smile, bro,” he says, nudging Patrick like he’s done something to be proud of. All it feels like he’s done is bask in the golden shine David emits with express permission from David to do so. “So, you must-a did somethin’!”

Patrick blushes, looking down to the carpet at his feet. He’s not sure what he did to get David to come here, or to talk to him, or to even cast a glance in Patrick’s direction at all. “I didn’t do anything, man,” Patrick shakes his head. “I just showed up, and he saw me, and then I was his.”

Oscar grins at his friend, and Patrick knows that Oscar considers him to be his friend. It’s nice, even if Oscar isn’t the best company. It makes him feel welcome. “That’s so fuckin’ romantic and shit,” Oscar decides. “But, yo, just so you know, I heard through the vine that Sebastien ain’t too happy that someone snatched up his main boo. He might be spittin’ in your drinks from here on out, you know?”

Patrick’s nose wrinkles at that entire sentence. “David is only Sebastien’s ‘main boo’ in his head,” he insists. He has it on very good authority that David is not at all interested in the bartender. “I don’t care if he spits in my drinks.”

Oscar’s eyes sparkle in a way that lets Patrick know he’s about to say something disgusting. “Do you care if David spits in your mouth?” He asks.

Patrick scoffs and gives Oscar a light shove. “Don’t you have some work to do?” He asks, knowing that Oscar definitely has some work to do. Generally speaking, Oscar is an enthusiastic, but easily distracted procrastinator. “Go clean out the popcorn machine or something. Jesus.” Patrick doesn’t actually mind Oscar. Out of all the people he works concessions with, Oscar is one of Patrick’s favorite co-workers. He has no direction, though, no aim in life, and Patrick has definitely seen him eating nacho cheese from the dispenser with his hands before. He had a glove on, at least. He’s got a big heart, and always treats Patrick like he’s another guy, so Patrick likes him.

He tries to work, he really does. Patrick tends to the customers and does some inventory, all the things he’s supposed to. He keeps getting distracted, though. Every time a movie lets out, his eyes look for David, even on the opposite side of the theater. Time doesn’t seem to want to cooperate with Patrick, as it wants to inch forward today, instead of hurdling forward, like every other day.

Eventually, the clock ticks to the appropriate time. As his shift relief comes in a few minutes early, and Patrick is allowed to punch out his time card, David’s movie lets out. Patrick feels David’s eyes on him and instantaneously looks up to meet them, all the way across the room.

Oscar grabs Patrick’s shoulders and gives him a shake. “Go get ‘em, man,” he encourages. “You got this. He won’t even know what hit him.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and steps out of his friend’s grasp. “See you tomorrow,” he says.

“Yo, I expect to hear a good fuckin’ story tomorrow,” Oscar says with a wide grin and an encouraging point of a finger.

“You might wanna lower your expectations,” Patrick advises, glancing over his shoulder to give him an amused smirk. Oscar doesn’t let it phase him, the enthusiastic and encouraging grin still on his face as he walks towards the door.

He turns back to look at David. As he approaches, his lips twist upwards to one side. “Hi,” he greets, his voice soft.

“Hi,” Patrick returns easily. “Did you enjoy your movie?”

David rolls his eyes and fights off a smirk. “Oh, I had the time of my life,” he says, very evenly.

Patrick snorts, rolling his eyes at the obvious joke. “Yeah?” He teases. “Did it fulfill all your Swayze dreams?”

David regards Patrick for a long moment, his mouth still twisted to one side, but a softness in his eyes that makes Patrick want to melt. “Up until very recently, he was my favorite of all the world’s Patricks,” David informs him, gently. Before Patrick can do anything more than blush furiously, David pipes up. “C’mon. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” He takes Patrick’s hand and leads him out of the theater, holding open the door for him.

“Uh, I’m more of a tea person,” Patrick admits, bashfully.

David gives him a funny look. “You’re not in Toronto anymore, honey,” he says, lightly. “Here in New York, we don’t trust or tolerate those little strings hanging out of people’s cups. It’s shitty coffee, or dehydration.”

Patrick chuckles, glancing to David. “Alright, coffee it is,” he agrees. He’s not going to turn down anything David extends to him. David meets his eyes, then gives him a little nudge as they walk down the sidewalk.

David steers him into a tiny little deli that Patrick must’ve walked past fifty times, but never noticed before. He pays for coffee and bagels for both of them, then directs them on a walk around the neighborhood. They turn down a few streets, chatting softly to each other between bites with shy smiles, and end up walking along the pier. The bay’s waves are calm today, and the seagulls are waiting for them to drop a few crumbs of their bagels.

“I have a couple confessions to make,” David says before they can get in too deep with their conversation. Their pace has slowed since arriving at the pier, like they know when they return to this spot, things will be different. He crumples up the paper from his bagel and tosses it away in a garbage can they pass.

Patrick hesitates, his heart seizing briefly. “Okay,” he draws out, not wanting to think too much about what David will say next.

“The first is that you’ve been on my mind since I first saw you,” he continues, pointedly not looking at Patrick as he walks, like if they catch eyes, he’ll loose his nerve. The last thing Patrick wants now is for David to stop talking. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Usually, my mind races a million miles an hour and even I can barely keep up, but-.” David cuts himself off to clear his throat and shake his head. “Not lately. Not since I met you.”

Patrick nods his head understandingly. David had just about taken the words from his mouth. “When you kissed me,” Patrick breathes his own confession, “it felt like my first time. All the things they talk about, the fireworks and the flying, all that. I felt it, that night.”

David leans into Patrick’s side, just barely enough to make Patrick think he’s not doing it intentionally. “It felt like my first time, too,” he agrees, very softly. “It’s not, I’ve kissed, like, a thousand people. But-. No one I really liked. No one I wanted to know, or thought was- nice?” It makes Patrick want to float away. Never has there been better words spoken to him. “So, in a way, we’re both starting something new.”

He likes the sound of that, starting something new with David. He desperately needs something new in his life, and he hopes, that tiny little optimistic voice in his mind screams out, so desperately for anything David will give him.

“Which brings me to my next confession,” David continues, choking out his words like they’re physically painful. “Even though you’ve been one long, continuous thought, I’ve been scared to come see you. I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me, or something equally as self-deprecating and embarrassing. I almost came yesterday, I left the apartment, like, five times, but I kept being chicken shit and coming back.”

The sentiment is almost adorable, if not a little baffling. Patrick, not wanting to see David? It’s not possible. “What changed?” Patrick asks, softly. He’s so thankful for whatever it might be.

“That’s the confession,” he says, slowly, like it’s physically painful for him to say. “My Mother convinced me to come. She practically begged me to find you, actually. She said she was ‘endlessly charmed’ by you on Saturday. She says she wants to take the opportunity to get to know you a little better.”

“Your Mother?” Patrick stammers, completely in shock. “Like, as in, M-Moira? Moira Rose?”

“Yeah, that exact one,” David sighs. “She requested that I deliver you to her promptly, but I thought it rude to A, just snag you from your shift and force you into the shit show that is my House, and B, treat you like Chinese delivery? You deserved a little warning, in my personal opinion.”

Patrick wants to laugh, but his brain and mouth can’t quite catch up with the idea of laughing. The Queen Mother of the House of Rose wants to talk to him. She mentioned him specifically, when he’s sure she doesn’t even remember all of the names of the possible prospective Roses. “Wh-why?” Patrick stammers, still trying to get his brain to catch up to the moment. “Why does she want to see me?”

David gives a small shrug. “I don’t know,” he admits. “She’s never asked me to find someone for her before. Not that I’d be willing to trek fifteen blocks for anyone else.” He stops short, like he hadn’t expected to say that part out loud. All it does is puff up Patrick’s ego.

He really can’t help himself. “You talked about me with your Mother?” Patrick confirms, his mouth pulling into a teasing grin.

David rolls his eyes, his entire body cringing as he relives the moment. “Believe me, it was more distressing than you can imagine,” he complains. “She’s been a dog with a bone for days now, it’s been heinous.”

“Aw, were you in distress?” Patrick pouts, failing to hide his amusement.

“Yes!” David insists, trying to grimace, but a smirk pokes through at the last moment.

Patrick chuckles at David’s theatrics. It just sounds nice to him, having people so interested in him. If Moira Rose wants to get to know him better, then he will show up with bells on, whenever she’d like. “When would Her Royal Highness like to see me?” Patrick teases, looking down at his coffee and debating taking a sip. He’s really not a huge fan, but he’s really trying. He wants this place to be his home.

“Uh, ideally, yesterday,” David says, trying to sound as casual as possible. It makes Patrick grin as he looks over at David. David scrunches his nose as he looks over Patrick’s face. “Smug little thing, aren’t you?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Patrick enunciates, “but I believe that I am the first to be summoned by the Mother of the House of Rose. Forgive me, your Majesty, for my confidence boost.”

“Mouthy, too,” David smirks, like he likes that in Patrick. He realizes that David must not have a lot of people that talk back to him. He is a Prince, after all, even if it’s just Prince of the Ballroom. He likes that David allows him to be mouthy at him. It’s the only trait of Patrick’s that’s gotten him in any trouble. “You’re very lucky you’re so damn cute.”

Patrick grins even wider at the glimpse of David’s dimples. “You think I’m cute?” He teases further, leaning into David’s side.

David looks at him, narrowing his dark eyes at Patrick. “A button,” he says, like he’s repeating something significant that Patrick has clearly missed. He doesn’t want to miss anything else. He wants to know everything. That thought, and the thought of David thinking of him in their brief time apart, makes Patrick smile. His smile makes David soften completely. He pulls them to a stop at the end of the pier.

They look away, bashfully, out to the water. Patrick leans his arms against the railing, looking out to the freight ships in the bay. David is barely an inch away, one hand on the rail, the other dangling his coffee cup over the edge. Patrick glances up at him and gives a small smile, out to the water. There’s no way he could have known, but he should have predicted that David is even more stunning in the light of day.

“What do you think she’ll say to me?” Patrick asks, trying to prepare himself for his audience with Moira Rose.

“I told you, I don’t know,” David insists.

Patrick’s lips twitch upwards, glancing over at him. “Okay, then, what do you want her to say to me?” He rephrases his question.

David looks at him like he’s never been asked that question, bewilderment cast over his stark features. He looks away from Patrick, out to the water, and leans a little more completely on the railing as he contemplates that answer. Patrick is a patient man, he can wait as long as he has to. “Nothing,” he says. “In my ideal world, the two of you don’t know the other exists and I won’t have to go through whatever mortifying interrogation this will be.”

Patrick chuckles as he stands up straighter and tilts himself towards David. He puts a hand on David’s back, rubbing softly. David sags beneath it, looking over at Patrick. “You’re going to be okay,” Patrick whispers, half-teasing David.

David scoffs at the comment. “I should be the one telling you that,” he mutters. It makes Patrick smile softly. “What do you want her to say to you?”

Patrick thinks about that. A million thoughts race through his mind. He’s expecting some big, theatrical speech about how their community is one of solidarity, or something along those lines. He’s vividly imagining some long-winded inquiry about whether Patrick is worthy of her son’s heart. But that isn’t what David asked.

“I want her blessing to keep seeing you,” he says, smiling softly as he looks at David.

David scoffs again, rolling his eyes. “You don’t need her blessing to keep seeing me,” he argues, which only makes Patrick grin at him.

“No, but I want it,” Patrick nods. “She’s your Mother, she’s important to you, even if she gets on your nerves. It’d be nice to know that she thinks I’m good enough for you.”

David rolls his eyes, pretending like he isn’t as flustered by what Patrick said as he is. How he got this reputation of being unaffected, Patrick will never understand, because all he’s seen is this version of David. He likes only knowing this secret part of him.

“You definitely do not have to worry about that,” David assures him. He can’t seem to decide if he wants to look at Patrick or not, his eyes flickering to anything he could possibly see. Eventually, his sights land on Patrick, and he lets out a small breath. “There have been a million guys who weren’t good enough for me. You’re the first that I’m not good enough for.”

It’s like a bucket of ice being dumped over Patrick’s head, the way that sentence hits him. It makes no sense. David may as well have been speaking Mandarin through that phrase, as Patrick couldn’t make any sense of it. “What?” He asks, double taking, his head shaking in confusion.

“What?” David parrots, his own confusion setting in.

“You, not being good enough?” Patrick asks. “For me?”

“Wh-, I’m not!” David insists, having not expected Patrick to argue back to him. “You’re great, you might be one of the best people I’ve ever met, and I’m just some-.”

“A Prince,” Patrick interrupts. David jerks in surprise. “You’re a gorgeous, fairytale Prince who makes me feel the way I’ve always wanted to feel. A Prince who was the first person to know me as a guy first.” His lips twitch upwards as his eyes memorize every feature on David’s face as they shift emotions with every word spoken. “You have no idea how much that means to me. So, I want to know that you’re getting just as much in return.”

David nods slowly, reaching up to rub at his lips with his fingertips, maybe to stop himself from swooping in and kissing Patrick. “I don’t know about my Mother’s blessing,” he breathes, his voice high and tight with emotion, “but you certainly have mine.”

Patrick’s smile grows, just a bit. His eyes dart down to David’s lips, and he leans the last few inches in to kiss David softly. It’s risky, to kiss out in the open like this, but Patrick thinks it’s worth it. He feels David gasp softly, then fall into Patrick’s kiss. Their bodies tilt towards each other. Patrick’s fingers brush around David’s waist, feeling the soft fabric of his dark sweater against the rough skin of his hands. David pulls him in closer by the shoulders, his strong hands firm on Patrick. It’s too much. It’s not nearly enough. It’s absolutely perfect, and Patrick’s heart leaps from his chest and right into David’s hands.

Just as slowly, they pull back. Patrick can’t help the smile creeping back into his face as he looks up into David’s eyes. So close, they’re warm, softer than Patrick ever anticipated these dark eyes being. It takes his breath away, he gives it freely to David.

David lifts a hand and gently brushes over Patrick’s cheek, a move so tender it nearly makes Patrick weak in the knees. David smiles, then takes Patrick’s hand. “C’mon,” He says, his voice like warm butter. “Let’s go get you that blessing.”

They nearly skip back down the pier, depositing their coffee cups in the trash can at the end. There are parts of Patrick that have aged decades in the month he’s spent in this city. It feels good to know that there are parts of him that are still young, still innocent enough to be so thrilled by the simple act of swinging his tangled hand as he walks with the boy he likes. He knows this is a luxury most gay men aren’t afforded, so he’ll take advantage of his miss-matched exterior, as he never really thought it ever could be an advantage.

Patrick tries to memorize the way to the abode of the House of Rose, but they twist and turn down so many streets, and David talks so quickly and with such vocabulary, Patrick loses track. They finally arrive in front of a tall, off-white building. Patrick quickly opens the door for David, who graciously thanks him as he passes by. Patrick follows closely behind him up seven flights of stairs, only slightly out of breath when they get to the top. David stops abruptly and turns to look at Patrick, his lips tucked in.

“So, if I know my insufferable family, and I do, they’re all going to be there?” David makes Patrick aware, very seriously. All Patrick can think, again, is how nice that sounds. “Like, right there, probably at the door, just waiting to attack. If and when that’s the case, I would like to apologize in advance for the military grade harassment. And, uh-. Warn you that I might not be as- cool,” he gives a strange, noncommittal hand-gesture, “in this situation as I may have convinced you I am.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Patrick grins up at him from the second to last step. “You know, I keep hearing that you’re this aloof Lord of the Ballroom, but I’m really not getting it.” Patrick grins as he shakes his head. “You might want to work on your vibe.”

David attempts an affronted face, but a certain warmth that Patrick is realizing is fondness creeps onto his chiseled features. “My vibe is very much intact, thanks so much,” he complains, even if his lips are quirked upwards. “You just happen to be an atypical example. An outlier.”

“Story of my life,” Patrick murmurs, stepping into David’s space from the final stair. It’s true, Patrick has always been the odd man out, but David doesn’t make it feel like a bad thing. He, in this particular instance, really likes being an outlier. His hands slip around David’s waist to pull them closer. David responds with a smile, sliding his hands over Patrick’s shoulders.

They meet halfway for a soft kiss. It somehow feels new and well-practiced, all at once, like this might be the first of a million kisses, right on this spot. The thought makes Patrick smile into David’s lips. He’ll trek up these long stairs if it means he gets to relive this every time he does.

When they pull back, it’s just barely. David lingers by Patrick’s lips, his nose brushing against Patrick’s. “I can take anything your family throws at me,” Patrick promises, his voice low and warm.

David huffs a soft laugh, his arms around Patrick’s shoulders tightening to pull them even closer. “I bet you can,” he murmurs. With a sigh, David slowly removes his arms from around Patrick’s shoulders. His hands trail down Patrick’s arms until he takes the hands on his waist into his own. “Lets get this over with, shall we?”

“I like that positive attitude,” Patrick teases. David rolls his eyes and pulls him down the hallway by his hand. There’s only two doors in the hall, one on either side. David reaches for the one on the left, but stops to take a deep breath. Patrick gives his hand a squeeze of encouragement.

The door swings open to an apartment bigger than Patrick has ever seen. He had no idea that New York had such huge apartments. It opens to a main room with big windows, letting in natural light and a view of the city. The furniture is big and comfortable-looking, set to seat the entirety of the House of Rose, which is, apparently, much larger than Patrick had known. Along the walls are the garment racks the House brought with them to the ball, only now they’re mostly empty. In the corner is a long, wooden desk with two sowing machines. In an opposite corner, a record player lets out a jazzy tune, one Patrick wouldn’t expect the Legendary Children to listen to in their free time. A little voice rings out in his mind that they’re trying to impress him as much as he wants to impress them.

Them, in this case, consists of those lounging around the room that all turn their attention to Patrick and David as they enter. Patrick recognizes Alexis, who is curled up with a muscular guy who almost looks clean cut, and the girl that David tried to hype up before her performance, flipping through a magazine, but there are quite a few others Patrick doesn’t know. Patrick has never seen such a diverse group of people sitting so casually together, all eyes trained to him. It feels very overwhelming, momentarily. These beautiful, modelesque people whose lair he’s just entered are all his community, all people just like him, only much luckier, because they have a beautiful home like this. He doesn’t feel afraid, because all he feels is longing. He wants to fit in here, to find a place on this couch to nestle into.

“Everybody, this is Patrick,” David announces. “Patrick, this is-. Everybody.” He gives a soft, unbelieving but resigned sigh. “You met Alexis already, always an unfortunate event.”

“Ugh, David!” Alexis cries, her eyes sharpening at her brother.

He doesn’t seem to care about her complaint. “She’s sitting with Ted,” David continues. Ted gives a smile and a wave with the arm around Alexis’ shoulders.“Then you have Cassie, Waylon, and Eternity.” The three of them give a wave, too. “I think Stevie is back there.” David points to a clothing rack, where a girl pokes her head out from behind it to give Patrick a blank stare. “And then we have Lola and Rusty.” Lola extends him the barest glance, but Rusty looks pleased to have a new member of the crowd.

Patrick gives a wave to the room, matched with a slight purse of his lips that he hopes comes off as a smile. “Hi,” Patrick greets.

“Welcome to our humble home!” Alexis coos.

“Glad to meet you, officially,” the voguer from Saturday, Eternity, smiles over at him as she flips through her magazine. Her voice is soft and low, like smoke.

“I feel like I already know you so well,” Cassie grins, straight teeth exposed and a mischievous glint in her eye. Patrick gets the feeling that this family teases each other to show love and affection. It makes him feel like he might fit in pretty well. “You know, since everyone has been passing that particular thermos of tea around the block, if you get my drift.”

Patrick doesn’t exactly get her drift, but David does. He gives her a glare that is twice as icy as Alexis’ had been. “You might want to be more careful about the tea in which you sip, sis,” he articulates. She gives him an amused smirk.

“David!” A powerful voice calls from elsewhere. Patrick knows, on impact, that it’s this House’s Mother who calls out. “Have you returned with your eloquent admirer?”

“Oh my god,” David whispers, already mortified. He’s been mortified for ages now; maybe Patrick should get used to it. He kind of likes the shade of embarrassment on David.

“Eloquent admirer,” Patrick mouths, grinning to himself as he does so. He looks at David and does his very best to not laugh at the distress on his face. “You’re gonna be okay,” he reminds, very gently, squeezing his hand. “Lead the way.”

“David?” Moira calls again, her voice pitched even higher.

“We’re coming, stop screaming!” David yells down the hall as he escorts Patrick to the last door.

“I am not screaming!” She screams as they arrive at her open door. She visibly composes herself at the sight of them in her doorway. “Ah! Sweet Pat.”

“Mm, we’re not doing ‘Pat’,” David interjects, one finger up. Patrick knows he’ll be thankful for that, in the long run.

“Hi, hello, Mrs. Rose,” Patrick half-stammers as he smiles brightly at her. “It’s so lovely to see you again. You have a beautiful home.”

“Aren’t you precious? Thank you, Patrick,” she says, genuinely. She waves a delicate hand over in his direction. “Please, come, sit with me. I was just about to pour a cup of tea, would you like to join me?”

Patrick raises his eyebrows and looks at David, very pointedly. “Yes, I would love to,” he says, turning back to Moira. David lets go of his hand as he takes a step into the bedroom. Patrick doesn’t see David’s mouth twist up to one side, very fondly, and that is certainly a loss.

As David takes a step in the join them, Moira holds up a hand to David. “Thank you, David,” she says, curtly.

David’s jaw snaps shut in surprise as he stops. “Okay,” he chokes out. He looks from his Mother to Patrick for permission to go. Patrick smiles softly as he sits down next to Moira, nodding to him. David takes a breath, studying Patrick with a wary look on his face, but turns to go.

“Door!” Moira reminds without looking.

David turns abruptly, to give her a bewildered look, but follows her command, closing the door behind him as he exits the bedroom. Despite his theatrics, David hasn’t instilled the fear of God into Patrick. He’s fully intending on enjoying the company of Royalty.

Up close, and in the daylight, Patrick can really see her. Her face is beat to perfection, with a very casual, daytime, black smokey eye and red lip. She seems older than he expected, but is no less beautiful than he remembers. She’s dressed very elegantly for afternoon tea in her bedroom, with a sleek black dress and dazzling jewelry adorning her neck, wrists, and fingers. Then again, her bedroom is not a very casual place to be. He’s too stunned to be in her presence to slouch, anyway.

Patrick watches as Moira’s jeweled hands pour him a cup of tea. The fine China reminds him of his grandmother’s set, but far more ornate and beautiful. She sets the teapot down carefully, then hands him his cup with a kind smile, far kinder than he’d ever expected. He realizes that he should stop having expectations altogether, because this family will always surpass them.

“Thank you,” he accepts his tea graciously.

“Thank you for joining me!” She returns. “I so rarely get the pleasure of having someone new join me here for a lovely afternoon chin-wag.”

“Believe me,” Patrick says, “the pleasure is all mine. I don’t remember the last time I was invited to tea.”

She extends to him a fond smile over her teacup. She sets down her cup on the saucer and looks him over for a moment. “I can imagine you’ve been pondering my intentions with this little tête-à-tête,” she reads him easily.

Patrick chuckles bashfully, his eyes darting down to his tea. “Yeah, I have been,” he admits. “I didn’t realize I’d made such an impression on you.”

“You certainly did,” she confirms, strongly. “More importantly, you made an impression on David. That can’t be said for many people, I’m sure you’ve been made aware. More specifically, you made a very positive impression on him. In the many years I’ve known David, never have I seen him quite so effervescent. He’s hardly the bubble Glinda comes down in, but his shine has taken on a new hue. I want to know more about the man who can change my boy so much in a single evening.” Patrick blushes deeply, his eyes darting away for a moment. Moira’s smile gets a little more fond. “Tell me the grand story of you, Patrick. What brings you to New York?” She takes a sip of her tea, her brows raising expectantly.

“Uh, well,” he starts, collecting himself. He’s never told anyone. No one’s ever asked. More so, he’s never wanted to tell anyone about his past. But something in Patrick trusts her. Melodramatic as she may be, she’ll understand him. “I was in my second year of business school, before. One of my friends from field hockey was getting married, and for her bachelorette party, we went to a gay bar. Kind of a weird choice, but it sounded like fun, so I went. There was this drag queen there.” Patrick smiles. He can see her, in his mind, just as clearly as the first time he saw her. He’ll never forget her crystal clear image. “She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was dancing and drinking, and she was so-. Free. Seeing her, it cracked something open in me. It was like the light turned on for the first time, I just got it. I’m not a girl. I’m not butch, or a dyke, or whatever. I’m a guy. Seeing someone else, someone like me, but a little different, it made me feel safe.”

“So why not be a man in Canada?” She asks. David must have told her. Patrick wonders how much David told her. He doesn’t mind, either way. “Why come all the way here?” She sounds interested, and not at all accusatory.

Patrick clears his throat, and takes a sip of his tea. “My parents,” he says, quietly. “I, uh-. Well, I told them. That I’m a transsexual. That I want to live as a man.”

Moira sucks in a breath and gives a slow nod. “A valiant act,” she comments. “One not all of us have the opportunity to do ourselves.” Silence lingers between them, just for a moment. “They made you leave?”

Patrick’s throat tightens, thinking about the last he saw them. “Not- in the way you think,” he defends them. He’s heard some real horror stories about some parents, he knows his situation isn’t as bad as some. “They didn’t tell me to go. But they didn’t have to. I knew. I could see it on their faces.” He dreams nightly of his father’s deep shock, of his mother’s horrified disappointment. The only relief from his dreams came when he started to dream of David, instead. “They don’t want a son, not like me.”

Moira tsks, shaking her head solemnly. “A travesty on their part,” she says, airily. “They know not what they’ve lost. I, for one, would be honored to have a son like you.”

Patrick smiles, ducking his head. It’s one of the kindest things he’s ever heard. It almost brings tears to his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“I mean that with the utmost sincerity,” she promises, and Patrick knows it’s true. “Tell me, what would you like to see happen within your transition?”

Patrick furrows his brow in confusion. “Uh-?”

“I’m assuming, based on your flawed usage of duct tape around the chest, that a breast removal surgery may be some sort of an objective for you to achieve at some point in the future?” She infers. He’d forgotten, somehow, that even a Queen like Moira Rose starts someplace like him. He can’t imagine her in any other way than what’s before him.

“Very distant future,” Patrick shakes his head, waving a hand. “There’s a lot of things to do between now and then. I mean, I haven’t even thought of it as a possibility for myself.”

Moira’s brow furrows this time, but only slightly. She shakes her head in confusion. “Why not?” She almost demands.

Patrick lets out an uncomfortable laugh, then clears his throat. “Uh, I cant afford it,” he says. “I can barely afford a hot meal. I sleep on benches at night. If I could afford anything, it’d be hormones. Top surgery isn’t really-, you know, high on my priority list.”

Moira considers this for a few moments, her perfectly manicured fingers coming to stroke gently at her soft chin. It’s almost unnerving, to have her eyes rake over him with such scrutiny. “I appreciate you opening up to me about your plight, sweet Patrick,” she finally says. She sets her teacup down on the table between them and folds her hands neatly in her lap. “In this House, we have certain rules. You must walk in every ball, in each category you’re suited for. I do not condone the commerce of hard substances. We have a very strict 5 AM curfew-.”

“Sorry,” Patrick interrupts, holding up a hand. “What’s happening?”

Moira looks a little surprised that he can’t figure this out. He can. He knows what she’s saying. But he needs real confirmation. “You’re joining the House of Rose,” she explains. The words explode in Patrick’s mind. “It’ll be on a trial basis, at first, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t make the cut.” She gives him a fond wink.

“You- you want me to join your House?” He repeats, like he may have, somehow, misunderstood her very explicitly stated sentence.

“Yes, dear, I believe I said so,” she says, very patiently. “I certainly can’t condone a fine, educated young gentlemen continuing his stay in my city on park benches. You have a place here, with us.”

Patrick’s thoughts race. The very exclusive and most Legendary House just extended him an invitation. All he knows about the Roses is from the girls and boys who have been fighting, tooth and nail, to even be noticed by the House, and Patrick has been invited to join them, just like that. He should feel immense pressure; anytime anything like this has ever happened to him, Patrick has clenched in fear. This doesn’t feel that way at all. This feels like discovering a set of wings on his back and learning they can make him fly.

“I’ve never walked in a ball,” he admits, like it’s something he’s ashamed of. They have so many trophies, they probably throw them away, and he’s only ever been to one, singular ball.

“We all must take baby steps before we can strut,” Moira soothes him. “We’ll get you ready for your first category, don’t you worry your little button about it. I imagine you’ll do quite well with the judges.” Patrick smiles and dips his head at the compliment. Of all the thoughts that ran through him on the pier, none of them were remotely close to this. How could he have ever expected an offer to stay? Even his wildest imagination isn’t so untamable. Moira points a finger at his face. “That, right there. That sweet face. We’ve been sorely missing someone who can serve Schoolboy Realness, and I think you may just be the perfect contender.”

To hear that even he has a place amongst such Legends makes Patrick’s heart leap. He has a place here, with the Roses, with David. He’ll never do a thing to make this family disappointed in him. The last thing he wants to see is that same shameful disappointment on Moira’s face. He’ll be the son he’s always wanted to be.

“You really want me?” He asks, a little lightheaded from the emotional roller coaster.

Moira gets a peculiar expression across her face. “Of course, I do,” she says, plainly. “It is only by some miracle that I’m not fighting off other Houses for a young man like you.”

“Not a lot of Houses want a young man like me,” he mutters.

“Well, that is their loss,” she says, pointedly. “And it’s my gain. You don’t become a Legendary Mother by seeing what others see, you do it by knowing what others can’t even comprehend.”

Patrick supposes she’s right. She knows more about this life, this culture, than he ever could. It’s in her blood, she brought this world to life. He won’t argue with her about what she wants. He’ll just say ‘thank you’ and do whatever she asks of him.

“Thank you,” he says aloud with a warm smile. “Thank you. This means-.” He can’t find the right words. There aren’t enough express exactly how much this means. He clears his throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Rose.”

“Mother,” she corrects, stern, but kind.

He smiles and nods. “Thank you, Mother,” he agrees, a thrill shooting through him at the word. He has a Mother. He has a House. He could never thank her enough for this gift.

Her lips quirk up in a fond, little smile. “We’ll get to know each other a little better, later,” she discloses. “For now, I imagine David has some strong opinions about your new living situation, so I suppose you should start your negotiations with him sooner, as opposed to later.” Patrick chuckles, realizing that this propels his relationship with David much further than he’d anticipated. It doesn’t feel as terrifying as it probably should. It feels joyful. “What has you chortling to yourself?”

He takes a brief moment to collect himself, to be honest with her. “David asked me what I hoped you’d say to me,” Patrick explains, quietly. “I told him I wanted your blessing to keep seeing him. I guess I got a little more than that.”

Moira smirks. It’s so much like David’s smirk that Patrick forgets that he couldn’t have actually inherited it. “It would seem that way,” she says, her amusement poking through her voice. “For clarity, you certainly have my blessing to continue your romance with David. If he has my blessing to see you is an entirely different story, but I’ll allow it, all the same.”

The confirmation makes a joyous laugh bubble forth from inside Patrick. “I won’t let you down,” he promises.

Moira tilts her chin upwards, like that will somehow hide her pleased smile. “I’m sure you won’t,” she agrees.

Patrick takes this as his cue to leave. He sets down his teacup, and rubs his palms on the knees of his jeans. He exhales slowly as he stands. He gives his new Mother a respectful nod before turning to go towards the door. “Patrick?” She calls, just as he has his hand on the knob. He looks at her with his brows raised expectantly. “I look forward to having you in my home.”

Patrick smiles brightly at her. “I look forward to being here,” he promises. Moira gives him the slightest of nods, then picks back up her teacup. Patrick turns away from her, smiling to himself.

Patrick opens the door, and there is most of his new House, waiting in the hall. A few of them scatter into their bedrooms as he squeaks open the door at the end of the hall, pretending they weren’t listening in. The walls are thin, he knows they all heard everything. David stands the closest of all the Children, leaning against the jam of the next door. He looks up to meet Patrick’s eyes as soon as the door opens, his face brightening about six shades.

“Hi,” Patrick breathes. He looks over his shoulder to Moira, silently asking about the door, knob still in hand. She gives a nod, and he closes the door softly behind him.

“Hi,” David greets back, pushing himself off of the doorway to move closer to Patrick. Patrick reaches for David, and they’re quickly wrapped up in each other. “Welcome home.” It’s no more than a soft murmur into Patrick’s ear, but it sends a shiver down Patrick’s spine. He lets out an exhilarated laugh into David’s shoulder, and David holds him a little tighter.

“Oh my god, stop hogging, David!” A high voice comes from behind them. Patrick opens his eyes to see Alexis peeking out from the bedroom David was standing in front of. David pulls back enough to glare at her, which is just enough room for her to sneak her long, thin body in between them.

She bumps David with her hip to give herself more room. “I could not be happier that you’re here,” she beams, poking at Patrick’s shoulder with both of her index fingers to punctuate her words. With a soft squeal, Alexis leans down to pull him in for a tight hug, which surprises Patrick. He looks over her shoulder to David, who looks three times as bewildered as Patrick feels.

“Thank you,” Patrick mumbles into her shoulder as she shakes him. “Happy to be here.” She squeals, and squeezes him a little tighter, before letting go and skittering backwards.

The man who was wrapped around Alexis before is at the doorway of the bedroom. He’s grinning widely at Patrick, quickly extending his hand. Patrick grasps it, and is promptly tugged into a tight, one-armed bro-hug. “Welcome to the family, bud!” He cries as he lets go of Patrick, almost as quickly as he pulled him in. He claps both of Patrick’s shoulders with a friendly smile. “I’m Ted,” he reminds, gesturing to his chest with his thumb. “A lotta names to remember around here, but I’ll help you out if you get stuck.”

“Thanks, man,” Patrick says, Ted’s excited energy quickly rubbing off on him. It feels good to feel so accepted. He really feels like he’s being welcomed home. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel this way again.

David’s hand slips into Patrick’s, quickly capturing his attention. “Go,” he shoos Alexis and Ted with his free hand. “Out. Cockroaches. Give him a minute to breathe.”

Ted and Alexis extend big smiles to Patrick as Ted ushers the Princess down the hallway. Alexis curls her finger to bid him adieu as she’s escorted away. David takes the opportunity to pull them into the bedroom, softly closing the door behind them. He presses himself against the closed door and turns to look at Patrick, whose eyes dance around the bright room.

There is a privacy screen dividing the room in half, with a bed on either side of the room, one with a black comforter and white trim, and the other with a floral, yellow quilt. The screen probably doesn’t do much, other than establish a border between the two halves of the bedroom, but it is a very nice screen, all the same. From this side of the room, it matches the decor. Just with a quick glance around, not to mention who just vacated, Patrick can tell who lives in this room.

“Alexis and I share a room,” David explains, though he doesn’t really need to. “Ted lives in here, too, on her side.”

Patrick nods. He sees the weights in the corner of the room, and knows they’re probably not Alexis’. He sits down on the foot of the bed with the black comforter on it. “I’m assuming this is your half of the room?” He says.

“You would assume correctly,” David says with a nod, pulling away from the door. He steps towards Patrick, who opens his legs to give David a place to stand. David positively beams at Patrick as he gently places his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. It sends Patrick’s heart into overtime. “There’s an extra bed in the boys room, but. If you wanted to bunk here, with me, I’d be okay with that.”

Patrick’s thoughts haven’t stopped racing since Saturday. The offer to move in with a man he met three days ago should propel him into the biggest spiral of his short life, but it doesn’t. The whirlwind within slows and slots right into place. This is where he was meant to be. The bus rides and the job interviews and the benches all led him here, led him home.

“I’d love to bunk with you,” Patrick grins. He pauses. “And Alexis and Ted.”

David rolls his eyes, but he’s still beaming at Patrick. “A wise choice,” he says, sagely, nodding his head. “The boys are great, really, but their room is like an entire frat house, all rolled into one tiny shoebox.”

Patrick chuckles. He knows the type, he’s wildly unsurprised by that statement. He’d been to college, after all. “I’m probably going to take Ted up on his offer to help with everyone’s names,” he admits.

David grins mischievously, his fingers toying with the shirt hairs at Patrick’s neck. “Waylon and Rusty,” he reminds, softly.

“Waylon and Rusty, right,” Patrick nods, committing the names of his new family to memory. “Are they-. Like me?”

“No one is like you,” David breathes. “But if you mean transsexual, then no, but Ted is.” Patrick jerks in surprise. He didn’t even consider that Ted could be transsexual. Then again, he wouldn’t expect Alexis, or even Moira, to be transsexual either. “I know, he passes like you wouldn’t believe. Even before he started on his hormones, he passed. He and Alexis can walk down any street like any straight, white couple. You know, other than the fact that she towers over him, and then she likes to wear heels.”

Patrick huffs a soft laugh, his arms wrapping a little more completely around David as he smiles up at him. “You really didn’t know she was going to invite me to join the House?” Patrick asks, his voice low, head tilting in the direction of Moira’s bedroom.

David tucks his lips between his teeth, rolling his eyes slightly to try and play off that he’s been caught. “She didn’t say anything explicitly to me about it,” he defends himself. “But-. She may have implied it. I-. Didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Patrick’s brows raise in fond amusement. “Oh, you were hoping?” He teases.

“You’re insufferable,” David complains, his secret smile laced into his voice. He leans down and kisses Patrick softly, cupping his jaw like he’s something to be revered. Patrick gasps softly at the feeling, but kisses David back thoroughly. It’s hard to do so, he has to crane himself as far up as he can. David gets the hint of the strain of Patrick’s body. He leans down, pulling a knee up on the bed, then the other so he can settle onto Patrick’s lap.

Patrick lets himself be pushed back into his new bed. He has a bed to sleep in, and a gorgeous man on top of him, and this is probably the best random Tuesday to have ever happened to Patrick. His hands roam around David’s back, brushing over the thick knit of his soft sweater. He can’t help his fingers dipping under the fabric. David’s skin is so soft and warm, it makes him real. This is really happening, David is really letting out a soft whimper into Patrick’s mouth.

It’s easy to get lost in this, in the time-slowing intimacy that Patrick didn’t know was a real thing. He thought it was made up by movie producers, convincing women to settle for hopeless boys that they have to fix up into appropriate adults after the credits roll. David is so much better than any leading man in any movie. Patrick Swayze doesn’t have shit on David. There’s not a movie producer alive who would make a leading man like David, because none of them are brave enough to show the world what the perfect man actually looks like. Patrick decides to never let anyone in on that secret; the world can have their average-looking white dudes in the movies, so long as he can have David.

It should feel like too much. All of this should be information overload, too much to process, but it just feels like the Rubix Cube of Patrick’s life finally has all sides shaded correctly. It feels like David’s dexterous fingers knew the exact right combination of twists and turns to make Patrick feel complete. He doesn’t feel broken, some half-boy no one could ever notice anymore; he feels like a man, one that can take charge.

So, he does exactly that, holding David tightly as he flips them over. David lets out a surprised moan against Patrick’s lips, but doesn’t pull back. If anything, he pulls Patrick even closer, deepening their kiss, his tongue sweeping into Patrick’s mouth, fingers grasping at the short hairs on Patrick’s crown. Patrick groans in response, one of his strong legs slotting between David’s. He grinds down into David, drawing out another moan from David. He could listen to these sounds all day long and never get tired.

David’s hands feel like heaven as they roam over Patrick’s back. His ringed fingers twist into the back of Patrick’s shirt, pushing their bodies together. When he rolls his hips upwards, Patrick can feel his hardness in his jeans. Want shoots through Patrick, pooling low in his belly. Everything starts to spin again. He never wants to stop, but he needs to breathe a complete breath and take a moment to really take note of this situation before he flings his clothes off and has his way with David.

“Sorry,” he breathes as he slowly pulls away from David. “Sorry. I need-.”

“-A breather?” David fills in, sitting up just as much as Patrick. He’s nodding in understanding, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Don’t be sorry. That was my fault, I took it too far.”

Patrick raises a brow at David. “Your fault?” He repeats. “We really need to discuss your word choice. That makes it sounds like I didn’t want it, and I really, really do. Just-. Slightly slower.” He leans in to capture David’s lips in a short, tender kiss.

David lets out a shivering breath against Patrick’s lips, his eyes slowly opening to meet Patrick’s. “You better stop doing that,” he threatens, his voice too soft to actually be any kind of threat.

“Or what?” Patrick grins, his voice just as low.

“Or I might have to tear your clothes off and make you mine,” He says, leaning forward to hold his lips just an inch from Patrick’s.

“Oh, well, in that case,” he teases, leaning in to capture David’s lips in a slow, intense kiss again. He can ignore the spinning because it’s not a bad feeling, and David’s lips on his is so much better.

David whimpers softly against Patrick’s lips. He gets distracted, all caught up in Patrick, for a few moments. “Mm, no really,” he mumbles into Patrick’s lips, pulling back. “I’m not going do debauch you ten minutes after you got here when the whole House is here.”

Patrick grins, extends one more kiss to David’s lips, then pulls off of him. “If you insist,” he teases.

David sighs, looking up the ceiling for a moment before sitting up on his elbows. “I wish I didn’t have to,” He says, trying to be flippant, but completely unable to pull on his shroud of indifference around Patrick. “But I’m realizing that you very well could be completely incorrigible.”

Patrick grins at David. “I won’t apologize for that,” he smirks, inching towards David. He must feel this magnetic force, too, because he leans in, too. Just before their lips brush, Patrick stops short. “Will you give me a tour before you debauch me?”

David gapes at Patrick, his jaw dangling and his eyes wide. Patrick can’t help the soft, affectionate laugh that bubbles out of him. David blinks a few times, then shakes his head. “You’re relentless,” he accuses. “You’re, like, actively trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Patrick gasps in mock-offense, shaking his head. “Me? Never,” he draws out, his smirk threatening to burst forth.

David narrows his eyes, but leans the short distance in to kiss Patrick again. He’ll never get enough of the feeling of David’s lips on his. He could feel this every moment of every day for the rest of his life, and it still wouldn’t be enough. When David pulls back slowly, and Patrick opens his eyes, he feels like he’s a little bit in a daze. He doesn’t actually remember, right now, how it feels to want anything else. “Stop looking at me like that,” David breathes against Patrick’s lips.

“Like what?” Patrick asks, but he knows how he’s looking at David. He can feel how different this look settles on his face.

“You know like what,” David mumbles, pulling back to grin at Patrick. He stands quickly, brushing himself off, and extends a hand to Patrick. “I believe you requested a tour?” His defined brows arch upwards, and his mouth is twisted up to one side. His hair is a little disheveled, the sight of which sends Patrick’s heart lurching into a rapid speed. He may not survive this, but the risk goes far beyond worth taking.

“I believe that’s true,” Patrick grins right back. He takes David’s hand and pulls himself off the bed. “Show me everything.”


	3. three - baby steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the smut in it, and it does have some afab language in that part, so if you’re not into it, or if reading that will trigger you, it’s the fourth segment to this chapter, you’re more than welcome to skip it. Enjoy!

Never before had Patrick liked his appearance in the mirror so much.

He’d been subjected to conspiring whispers between his new siblings for just over a week now. They’d stop as he walked through the room, waving to him with bright smiles as he made his way in and out, and then go back to whispering as soon as he was out of earshot. It never seemed malicious, so Patrick was never concerned. Had he known that this is what they were conspiring about, he might’ve conspired with them. Then again, any of his input would detract from what they’ve done.

Over the last few days, in any spare moment he’s gotten, Patrick’s learned a lot about his House. David was the founding member of the House, the first of Moira’s Children, and he’s the one who found Rusty and brought him to the House. Rusty is an incredible modiste. What Rusty can do with fabrics is nothing short of miraculous. As quick as he is with a sowing machine, his tongue is twice as fast. Though he can be sharp, and he called everyone ‘bitch’, Rusty is always kind. He always tries so hard to be funny and uplifting, but sometimes he gets sensitive to the snipping.

Most of the snipping comes from Lola and Waylon. Usually, Waylon reigns it in, and is mostly fun to be around, but Lola can be mean, especially to those not in the House. The more Patrick is around them, the more he wants to stay on their good side. They’re also the two best cooks in the family, sharing recipes a few times a week to show how much they love their House. Not a single dish they place on the table has been anything less than perfect. He didn’t know food so delicious could be made at home, or could even exist at all.

While she couldn’t fry an egg to save her life, Cassie is still very much a woman of many talents. She seems to have super-hearing, as she knows every bit of ballroom gossip. She’s skilled in the ways of deciphering a complete story from bits and pieces she got from five people. She never does anything malicious with the information, but she does love to hoard it. As adept as she is at listening in on conversations, she’s even better with make up. She has things in her portion of her bedroom that she uses everyday on her face that Patrick has never seen, and wouldn’t have the slightest idea as to what part of the face they’re used.

Aside from David, Patrick has found himself closest with Ted and Stevie. Ted is no surprise at all, they share a lot of common interests and a bedroom. Stevie, however, is a little bit of a surprise. They’d never admit it, but Patrick knows that she and David are best friends. It makes sense that she and Patrick would get along, too. Something about their senses of humor and their common goal of getting David to crack his unaffected exterior bonded Stevie and Patrick very quickly.

The only person Patrick hasn’t really gotten to know yet is Eternity, but she tends to keep to herself. She’s sweeter than anything, and has a voice softer than velvet clouds, and often gets talked over, though she doesn’t talk much in the first place. Usually, if she’s not practicing her voguing, a skill that leaves Patrick in awe every time he witnesses it, T reads. Patrick likes to read, too, and he figures it’s a good place to start. On two separate occasions, Patrick has situated himself near her with a book of his own. He’d extend a polite smile, then fall deep into whatever he selected. Eternity seems to like his company. At least, she’s never objected to it.

Today just so happens to be Patrick’s first day off since he’d moved into the House. Once he and David had emerged from their bedroom that morning, Patrick got wrangled into a fitting for the ball. He’d already been measured, very thoroughly, on the first day he arrived, and ever since, the brothers and sisters have been altering men’s clothes every time he’d seen them. Now, Patrick understands why.

Before he left for work at the salon, David kissed him on the cheek softly before leaving him to the wolves so he could get to work. They’ve dressed him for the ball, a practice run for his first category. He’s in a horizontally striped sweater, tucked into belted, tailored slacks, just the perfect length. On the rack, on a hanger, is a nearly electric blue jacket, with pads at the appropriate places, designed to make him look a little more broad and muscular. The way they’d tailored his slacks makes him look even taller, and his sweater covers the curves of his body he’s been wishing away.

And, yes, he’d been apprehensive of Alexis and Cassie coming at him with their makeup bags, but with good reason. He didn’t like wearing makeup to begin with; a real selling point for transitioning was the very concept of never having to wear makeup again. Naturally, he cowered at the sight of a mascara wand, but it turns out all of his apprehension was for naught. They didn’t make him pretty, like how they’d done their own makeup. They didn’t put him in blush and liner, or anything like that.

No, the da Vinci and Michelangelo of makeup made a masculine masterpiece of his mug. They defined his edges, and darkened his eyebrows, and dusted a light stubbling on his cheeks and jaw. When they step away, and Rusty slides the jacket over his shoulders, Patrick is left breathless at his image in the glass.

He can’t stop staring. That’s a man, right there in the mirror. He turns, to make sure it’s not just the angle at which he stands, but it’s not. All the way round, Patrick is passing like he never has before. He smiles at the sight, and the man in the mirror smiles right back, bright and handsome. He might be the happiest man alive.

“Do you like the jacket?” Rusty asks, coming up beside Patrick to adjust the sleeves. “I noticed you like blue.”

The color is a little bolder than Patrick would’ve picked out for himself, but he’d also be the first to announce that he doesn’t know anything about clothes, especially now that he lives with the most fashionable people in Brooklyn. No, he probably wouldn’t have picked this jacket, but he’s an idiot. This jacket looks excellent on him, better than anything else he’d ever worn.

“I love the jacket,” he insists, smiling brightly at Rusty. “It’s amazing, you should be doing this for real.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Cassie agrees from the couch behind him. “He could be, like, a designer, for real, like, the next Galliano, but does he listen? No.”

“This is for real,” Rusty scoffs, stepping back to examine the jacket on Patrick’s body. “I’m happy to have some talent exclusivity, just for the House.” He smooths over the lapels, making sure they’re laying the way they should. “I have no motherfuckin’ interest in seeing my creations on the nouveau-riche white people in the suburbs ten long years after they’re so out, they were back in and now they’re out again.”

Patrick chuckles as Rusty walks away, sitting back down at the sewing machine he’s been working tirelessly at. “I’ve never worn something so nice,” he compliments, wholeheartedly. “Thank you, Russ.”

Rusty waves his hand, then goes back to threading the machine. “You can pay me back by winning Grand Prize in the category,” he says without looking at Patrick.

In this outfit, the way he looks right now, he just might do that. “Deal,” Patrick agrees easily. His eyes fall back to his reflection, and he turns his body to find the best angles and poses, the way the rest of the House does.

“Mm, pull your shoulders back,” Alexis recommends from the couch. Patrick glances at her through the mirror, then follows her instruction, tilting his head up too. “Lead with your dick.”

“I don’t have a dick,” he reminds pointedly.

Alexis rolls her eyes. “You pick right now to start being unimaginative?” She snarks, snatching a fat magazine off of the coffee table and flipping the pages without looking. “If you’re gonna win the trophy and earn your spot in this House, you have to have everyone in that ballroom convinced that the socks in your briefs are actually the biggest dick in the room.”

That is a very fair point. He thinks of all the guys he’s admired, the guys he’s always wanted to see himself in, and remembers how they carry himself. He remembers what it is that David likes about him when they first met. The adjustments he makes to his stance are very minor, but effective. He squares his hips, and sets his shoulders. He can do this. He’s starting to see himself in the mirror.

-

Patrick sits on a couch between David and Ted. His leg bounces nervously as he waits, his eyes darting around the room. David flips through a magazine. Ted stares at a painting of a gray cat under a bright yellow flower on the opposite wall; either the cat is very small, or that is a very big flower.

David reaches over and puts a hand on Patrick’s knee, to stop the bouncing of his leg. “You don’t have to do this today,” he says, softly, not wanting to disturb the patients in the other room. “We can come back another day.”

Patrick quickly shakes his head. “No, I want to,” he promises. “I’m just-.” He lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Nerves. I’ll be okay.”

David gives him a sympathetic smile, flipping the magazine closed and tossing it onto the coffee table. He reaches over and rubs Patrick’s back gently, and Patrick exhales at the gentle touch.

“Don’t be nervous,” Ted says with a reassuring nod and a lob-sided smile. “It’s gonna be the best thing that ever happened to you, trust me.”

And Patrick really does trust Ted. The last two weeks had really bonded the two. Whenever David and Alexis fell into their spats, which was often, the two of them would go off and do their own thing, usually work out. He’s been more than a good friend to Patrick, he’s been a real brother. He knows that if Ted says that this will help him, he can trust that this will help him.

“Dr. Auberry is really amazing, I think you’ll like her a lot,” Ted continues easily. “She has a son that she helped transition, so she’s seen it up close. You know? It’s more personal for her than most doctors. She doesn’t do all the shit some of the other doctors do. She always says the right names and pronouns and stuff. Super cool.”

Patrick nods and takes a breath. It’s surprisingly effective at calming him down. His biggest fear is showing up at a doctor’s office and getting deadnamed until all of him is dead, too. Hearing that it won’t happen here is relieving. Then again, they’re not in an office. They’re in a living room of a tiny, two-bedroom apartment, waiting for Dr. Auberry to finish with her last patient.

Dr. Auberry’s apartment is lovely, really. She has pictures of she and her children in frames around the house, and a little rainbow flag flying on her kitchen counter. It feels like a safe place for him to be. He’s up on safe places, as of recent, which is the best feeling in the world, especially after he’d resigned to never finding a safe place to exist ever again.

Eventually, the in-home treatment room door opens, and Dr. Auberry and her patient exit the room. She’s a short, black woman with a kind face and a green patterned dress on under her white coat. She escorts her patient to the door, bidding him good tidings until they see each other in a week. They talk by the door for a moment, and Patrick actively ignores the conversation. After the door is closed, the good doctor turns to regard the three men on her couch.

“Hi, Ted!” She greets him brightly.

“Hi, Dr. Auberry!” He returns, just as brightly. He holds a hand up below Patrick’s chin. “This is the one I was telling you about, Patrick.”

Dr. Auberry turns her friendly smile to Patrick. “Nice to meet you, Patrick,” he beams, and he smiles right back at her. “Excuse me for just a few more moments. I have to clean up, and I’ll be right out with you.” Patrick nods quickly, understanding. He appreciates her cleaning up, especially if she does injections of any kind. He’s not an idiot, he knows about the Virus that runs rampant in their community. Seeing her care reminds him further that this is a safe place.

The door to her treatment room is left open when she goes in clean up after herself. Patrick lets out a breath and sags, just slightly, into the couch.

“See?” Ted says, quietly. “Nothing to worry about.”

Patrick nods and smiles a little. That actually isn’t much at all to quell Patrick’s nerves, but that’s okay. The nerves aren’t a bad thing. He’s long since past certain things holding him back because he’s afraid. He’s used to a little fear coursing through him at all times.

Dr. Auberry returns a few minutes later, sitting in a chair opposite them. She smiles faintly at the three of them as she neatly folds her hands in her lap. “So,” She begins, her voice light. “I imagine you have some questions.”

Patrick actually has so many questions he doesn’t know where to begin. “Yeah,” he breathes, nodding. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

She chuckles and leans forward slightly. “I know, it’s difficult to find a place to start,” she nods. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about myself? Would that make you feel a little more comfortable?” Patrick nods, taking a breath. If he doesn’t have to find a place to start, he’s happy. “I studied uptown with some of the best in my field. I studied under Dr. Brooks for many years, have you heard of Dr. Brooks?” Patrick shakes his head, regretfully. “He’s an amazing man. He was at the forefront of the movement to improve hormone treatments for our transitioning patients. Because of his work, the medical field is beginning to understands the gravity of what it is we do for our patients. He was truly an amazing mentor and an even better man.”

Patrick nods, understandingly. “It sounds like it,” he agrees.

“I, personally, have been administering hormone treatments to transsexual men like you for almost ten years now,” she continues. “Most of my patients come in for treatments once a week or once every two weeks.”

“And, by ‘treatments’, you mean-,” Patrick cuts in.

“Hormone injections,” Dr. Auberry nods, a smile on her face. “I can get testosterone at cost, to make the treatments as affordable as possible.”

“How much are the treatments?” Patrick asks. It was a question he hadn’t thought to ask, it hadn’t crossed his mind. Could he afford hormones? David reaches over and puts a hand on his knee, silently telling Patrick that he doesn’t need to worry about that. The House has been taking care of everything in the short time he’s spent with them.

“It depends on the size of the dose,” Dr. Auberry says, which isn’t exactly a straight answer, but Patrick figures that’s okay. “Most patients are charged twenty dollars a visit, but it depends on the dosage and how often they receive treatments.”

Patrick nods as he takes in the information, biting his lip. “What can I expect? From the treatments?” He asks, softly.

“An increase in body and facial hair,” she begins. He imagines she gets asked this question a lot, and has an entire monologue prepared. “Your voice will start to deepen after a few weeks and will continue to do so for about a year. Fat deposits on your body will start to smooth out and redistribute. It’ll be easier for you to gain muscle, but it doesn’t look like you’ll have a lot of issues there. Your menstrual cycle will start to lighten up.”

Patrick goes a little pale. “I-, uh,” he stammers. “It’s already pretty light.”

Dr. Auberry raises her brows in something close to amusement. “Lucky you!” She exclaims, lightheartedly. “You’ll most likely stop menstruating all together, then. If you ever feel concerned about that or anything else, you can always give me a call.”

Patrick exhales and nods for the millionth time, trying to process it all. “And the side effects?” He asks.

“Adjusting to testosterone is likened to a second puberty,” she explains. “Your hormones are changing, and with that comes some changes in you. You might notice an increase in aggression and libido. Your skin may get a little oilier, and you might have some breakouts. There’s an increase in risks for diseases all men face, as well, like an increase in blood pressure or a higher risk for diabetes, but all of that can be kept in check with a healthy lifestyle.”

All of this makes a lot of sense to Patrick. A lot of it seems like it should’ve been intuitive, but his nerves have been so rampant that he hasn’t been able to think clearly. “And the long term?” He asks, wanting to gather as much information as possible.

The doctor smiles at him, appreciating his inquisitiveness. “I would recommend a breast removal surgery after six months to a year on the hormones, and a complete hysterectomy after five to ten,” she says, very evenly.

“A hysterectomy?” He asks, his face tightening at the unfamiliar word.

“A surgery to remove one’s uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes,” she explains.

Patrick hadn’t realized there was a word, or even a surgery, specifically for that. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle back into himself, processing everything as fast as his brain will allow.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Dr. Auberry soothes him, and he nods. “There’s no pressure to begin any treatments if you don’t feel as though you’re ready.”

Patrick appreciates the sentiment, but he’s more than ready. He shakes his head. “Thank you,” he says, graciously. “Really, thank you. It’s a lot of information, but I think I’m ready for this.” He glances over at David, who gives him a reassuring smile as he rubs Patrick’s leg. Patrick exhales slowly, then turns his eyes back to Dr. Auberry.

She smiles brightly at her new patient. “Excellent,” she says, happily. “Would you like to begin your treatments today?”

Patrick’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wh-. Really? Today?” He stammers.

She shrugs. “You’re already here,” she says, like it’s that simple. And maybe it is that simple. David’s fingers squeeze Patrick’s leg in encouragement, and that’s all Patrick really needs.

“If you do it today, we can be T Buds!” Ted says, excitedly. “We can come together every week! Not like- come together, but, like, come here together.”

“I get it,” Patrick cuts in before Ted can talk himself to death. “T Buds.” He can’t help but grin. It feels good, to have someone to support him like this. It feels better than good, to have family beside him, to have David’s hand anchoring him to this reality. “Sounds good, man.”

Ted slings an arm around Patrick’s shoulders and tugs him closer for a hug. Patrick leans into him, but looks over at David, who has one side of his mouth twisted upwards in an attempt to hide how pleased he is. It sends an indescribable force slamming into Patrick; being surrounded by people who want this for him, almost as badly as he wants it for himself, is something he could’ve never fathomed.

-

“The Category is,” the emcee, who Patrick now knows is called Major Mock, announces for the ballroom. “King’s First Walk.”

Even though Patrick expected to hear those words, his heart still pitches at the sound of them. The pulse of his own tension is louder in his ears than the music. He’s still out in the hallway with Alexis and Rusty, and they’re putting finishing touches on him. The rest of the House is already in position, in various parts of the crowd along the runway, ready for Patrick to make his debut. They’d stashed him away upstairs for a majority of the night, not wanting to give up too many secrets just yet, but now, the time is right.

“Oh my god, stop squirming!” Alexis complains, not fully grasping how nervous he is. Had she not felt this way before her first runway? Probably not.

“They’re calling the Category,” Patrick informs her, like she can’t hear Major just as clearly as he can.

“So? It’s not like you’re walking first,” she says. “We have a sec, just, like, chill, okay?”

“Leave him be, bitch,” Rusty waves get off, bumping her by the hip to move her out of his way. He smooths out the lapels of Patrick’s blazer and exudes calm energy. “You got this. You know you do. Nobody in this room has seen a man like you before, and they’re thirstin’ for it. They’re gonna love you, P.”

Patrick nods and takes a deep breath to try and center himself. He knows he’ll be great. All he’s gotten in this last week is passionate encouragement. If the most Legendary House to have ever graced the ballroom scene believes in him, the very least he can do in return is believe in himself, and show them that he’s worthy of their faith in him. He shakes out his arms and settles into his skin.

“Do you want a mirror?” Alexis asks him.

Patrick looks at her and freezes. “Do I need one?” He asks. He doesn’t want the actual image of himself to change how he feels right now. Seeing that will inevitably throw him off his game.

“No, no!” Alexis jumps, waving her hands apologetically. “You’re to die for! I just thought you might wanna see?”

Patrick hesitates, then shakes his head. “After,” he promises. His curiosity will eventually get the best of him. When he’ll look, later, in the mirrored surface behind the bar, he’ll gasp at the young man beside David, staring right back at him with the same delighted expression.

Alexis nods with a bright smile. She pulls a pair of sunglasses seemingly out of nowhere and slides them carefully into Patrick’s face. She clasps her hands together and tucks her hands beneath her chin and positively beams at him. “Dreamboat,” She announces, affectionately. Patrick ducks his head, smiling softly, and looks back up at her. “Yes! Do that. Perfect.” She grabs him by the shoulders and turns him, then pushes him towards the ballroom.

“Judges, your scores?” Major calls, his voice getting clearer and clearer with every step closer to the main room. “Six, eight, seven, six, seven! Damn, be kind to the boys! Remember, it’s their first time walking! We have witnessed baby steps this evening!” One of the judges must adjust a score, because the ballroom causes a slight stir. “Alright, is anyone else walking on tonight?”

Patrick takes a deep breath, then walks into the ballroom. The crowd senses his presence and parts for him, making room for him at the mouth of the runway. He slides one hand into the pocket of his slacks, feeling every set of eyes turn to look at him.

“Well, who do we have here?” Major exclaims, taking a very keen interest in the young man in the electric blue jacket. “A mysterious young man in blue?” A wave of excitement brushes through the crowd, and it swells inside Patrick. Has he already become a myth already? Some cryptic story of a man who flitted in and out of the ballroom to steal the world’s most elusive heart? He’s been sort of isolated from it all since he came to stay with the House. This feeling is unexpected, and very addictive.

Patrick can see, over the crowd and up on the platform, Stevie whispering into Major’s ear. He snaps his head to look at her, and she nods with a grin, then scampers away.

“Oh, I know just who you are!” Major Mock points emphatically at Patrick. “Y’all been askin’ anyone with ears about him, so y’all know just who he is, too. Everyone was sure you had to have been a ghost, and, yet, here you are, right back in my ballroom.” Mock extends his arms to either side, a wide grin on his face. “Boys and girls, let’s extend a warm Showcase welcome to the newest Child of the House of Rose, Mister Patrick Budd!”

He must admit, Patrick likes this feeling. He’s not afraid of showing that either. He takes off his sunglasses to meet the eyes of everyone in the room, a smile slowly spreading onto his face. Once he’s sure he has everyone in the room, he begins to walk down the runway. With no more than a few steps, all of these beautiful people that Patrick admires so much begin to cheer him on. He gives his people something they never knew they needed. He walks the way the House showed him, with squared shoulders and powerful strides. The ballroom trembles beneath his feet with every step down the runway.

“He’s giving you rich boy Realness, honey,” Major tells the children. “He’s giving you yacht club. He’s giving you Future-Sugar-Daddy.”

Patrick locks eyes with Eternity, who gestures for him to take off his jacket. He does so, very carefully, then slings it over his shoulder with a lob-sided grin. The crowd loves it, they love him, calling and reaching out to him, begging for more.

A hand with four silver rings adorning the fingers reaches out, near the end of the runway, and drops a handkerchief. Patrick is quick to step over, ducking to one knee to pick it up. He hands it back to his precious Prince, looking up from beneath his eyelashes to smile up at him and press a tender kiss to his knuckles. David lifts a hand to fan himself, a teasing half-grin on his face.

“And he’s a gentleman, too!” Major announces, as if anyone missed it. “Be still my heart!”

Patrick grins and slowly steps away from David, not wanting to let go of his hand, but having to. He finishes his walk to the end of the runway and presents himself for the judges. They seem to love him just as much as the rest of the room. Though, it probably helps that Moira stands the closest in the crowd to the judges panel.

“Judges, your scores, please,” Mock requests.

Seeing those cardboard squares go up in the air is a very different experience when one is so close to the panel. With every upwards woosh, Patrick feels his heart race faster and faster, expanding with every throb.

“Ten!” Major reads out. “Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten! Tens all across the board! Grand Prize goes to young Master Patrick, of the House of Rose.”

The world slows down. The lights get brighter, and the cheering, though pitched up in the wake of his triumph, sounds distant. He did it. He won! He’s never won anything himself before, and now, a room full of people are cheering his name. It takes a moment or two to catch up with reality. He only zaps back in when David is crashing into his side, wrapping Patrick up in a tight hug. All he can do is let out an incredulous laugh.

Soon, the rest of the House is piled around them, excited about his win. They all rub off on him, and he lets himself be happy. It helps everything sink in. He really did it. He won the trophy. Maybe he can become a Prince, too.

-

“I’m so proud of you,” David says for the hundredth time that night, only this time, it’s much lower and softer. He closes their bedroom door behind him, then turns to look at Patrick, his eyes dark and focused.

It’s late. It’s long after the House collected their trophies and prize money, splurged on a celebratory dinner, and returned home for a drink or two. Alexis and Ted made their exit about an hour ago, sneaking out the front door. Alexis had winked, obnoxiously and with both eyes, at David as she left. He cast a bewildered glare at her, counting his blessings that Patrick wasn’t paying attention at that time.

Now, the House is asleep, mostly. The sky is slowly starting to lighten from its inky black into a warm navy. The two of them have changed out of their ballroom gear and into their comfortable sleeping clothes. It feels good to be home, to know that he belongs here. Patrick’s heart is still light, adrenaline still coursing through him.

He’s caught glimpses of this look in David in the brief time they’ve spent together, this look of deep hunger. It only lights Patrick up further. He wants, so badly.

“You’ve mentioned that,” Patrick teases, because he’ll never be able to help himself.

David smirks at him, crossing the short distance to join him in bed. “Well, I mean it,” he says as he makes himself comfortable pressed against Patrick’s side, pulling Patrick’s arm around his shoulder. Patrick knows how much he meant it. He’d been very detailed directly in the shell of Patrick’s ear back at the ballroom. Patrick had never been so weak in the knees, gripping the bar and David’s arm for support. “You were the best thing I’ve ever seen, honestly.”

Patrick lets a small smile tug at the corners of his lips, reaching up with his free hand to cradle David’s jaw gently. “I’m glad I could live up to the expectation,” he mumbles, brushing his nose against David’s.

“Above and beyond,” David promises, just as softly, leaning in the rest of the way to capture Patrick’s lips with his own.

Patrick lets out the barest of sounds against David’s lips, falling into the kiss. He sweeps his tongue across David’s lips, desperate for more. Aside from the hour they have alone every morning while Ted and Alexis are on their run where Patrick can give David a quick handy, they have had just about no alone time like this since Patrick moved in. Patrick has wanted David since they locked eyes, and it’s only gained momentum from there.

David moans quietly into Patrick’s mouth, adjusting himself to press his entire body against Patrick’s. The sound, the sensations, all of it surges through Patrick. All he can think is David David David. He cards his fingers through David’s thick hair, needing more, but not knowing how to get it.

He feels like he’s on fire. Every press of David’s fingers burns hotter. He can feel how hard David is getting, and he wants to touch, his fingers ache to be around David again. They grapple at the back of David’s shirt when he grinds his clothed thickness against him.

He reaches his hands between their bodies, gripping David through his sweatpants. David bites out a moan into Patrick’s mouth, and pulls back an inch. “Can I-?” He stammers, searching Patrick’s eyes. “I want to touch you.” Patrick stops. He stares up at David, blankly. “Not that I don’t love how you touch me, but-. I want to watch you come.” Patrick feels a flush creeping onto his face and down his neck. He has to look away. “If-. If you don’t like to be-. Touched-. Like that-. I completely understand. We don’t have to do anything. Forget I said-.”

Patrick reaches up and places his fingers over David’s mouth. “It’s not that,” he whispers, barely able to meet David’s eyes. “I never have.”

David jerks back a little. “You’ve never had-?” He asks, but clips himself short, to not sound like a complete asshole right now. Patrick appreciates the sentiment, but he’s misunderstood.

“No, I’ve had sex,” Patrick corrects, shaking his head. “I’m not a complete Catholic School Cliche. I’ve had sex, a few times. But I’ve- never-.”

“Oh,” David gasps. “Not even by yourself?” There’s no judgement in his eyes, just curiosity.

Patrick’s blush only blooms deeper as he shakes his head, eyes darting quickly from David.

“Hey,” David says, trying to capture his attention. “Patrick, there is nothing wrong with that.” His eyes snap back to David’s, the last sparkle of fear fading under David’s soft gaze. He’s the most beautiful thing Patrick has ever seen, the most wonderful thing the world has ever created. Patrick leans up and kisses David softly.

Very slowly, David adjusts their bodies into a comfortable position, letting soft, searing kisses linger between their lips. One of David’s strong legs slots between Patrick’s, pressing against his increasing wetness. When David’s leg shifts, Patrick lets out a whimper into his mouth.

“Please, let me touch you,” David moans softly into Patrick’s ear. His lips move south, down Patrick’s neck. His teeth scrape against Patrick’s soft skin, the stubble scratching deliciously. All Patrick can do is hang on. “Please. I want to get you there. God, I love it when you touch me. I want to make you feel good. I want to hear you cry out my name.”

Patrick nods, furiously. Maybe he’s never come before, but it’s not like he isn’t open to the opportunity, especially when David is begging for it. “Yeah, David,” he breathes. His fingers slide through David’s hair. He’s not sure if if his hand is to coax him back up for a kiss, or continue on with the hickey he’s working on.

David lifts his head and kisses Patrick, his tongue gliding against Patrick’s like they’ve been doing this for years. Patrick lets out a soft groan that David is happy to swallow up, grinning against Patrick’s soft lips. A strong hand pushes Patrick’s shirt up halfway, very slowly, the fabric dragging carefully against his skin.

“Give me five minutes,” David murmurs into Patrick’s mouth. “If you don’t think I can get you there in five minutes, we can stop.”

“Confident, eh?” Patrick smirks, pulling David in for another greedy kiss.

David pulls back slowly, a dangerous smirk on his lips and in his eyes. “I’ve never had any complaints,” he goads. He leans his head down and kisses Patrick’s exposed torso softly. His lips inch down Patrick’s body, trailing wet kisses that light Patrick up. “Relax. I want you to feel good.”

Patrick already feels good, better than he ever has. Never before has he felt so much care and affection in something as small as lips passing over his skin. No one has ever taken the time to kiss him so tenderly. His eyes fall shut, relishing in the scrape of David’s stubble, the warmth of David’s breath and hands roaming down his body. David’s mouth lingers with each kiss, claiming every square inch of Patrick’s skin he can.

David’s talented fingers hook into the waistband of Patrick’s sleep pants, his lips silently worshiping the soft skin there. His eyes peek up to Patrick’s, and all Patrick can do is nod furiously.

David shucks the pants off of Patrick’s legs, leaving him mostly bare. After coaxing Patrick’s knees to bend for him, David settles between Patrick’s legs, kissing the middle of his inner thigh. “Look at these thick-ass legs,” he gasps against his skin, slowly kissing downwards, hands gliding against Patrick’s legs. “Like tree trunks.”

Patrick flushes all over again, taking the praise the best he can. He doesn’t get a lot of time to process anything at all, because David is opening him up, and gazing upon him like he’s found some great, lost treasure.

“Fuck, Patrick,” he mumbles, a breath away from him. David’s eyes dart up to Patrick’s before falling shut, leaning the last little millimeter into Patrick. He kisses Patrick lustfully, tongue sliding over Patrick’s most sensitive area. Patrick sucks in a gasp at the sensation, fingers curling into the sheets. It only spurs David on, licking into him with more and more fervor. His strong hands wrap around Patrick’s thighs to hold him in place.

Dexterous lips wrap around Patrick’s clit as a finger slides into him. Patrick lets out a soft groan, head thrown back into the pillows. “Oh God, David,” he whispers, a hand curling into David’s thick hair to hold him closer. David moans softly into Patrick, sending electric bolts up Patrick’s entire body. David’s tongue seems to know every trick, pulling Patrick to a place he’s never been before in an incomprehensible amount of time.

Never has Patrick felt this. He’s teetering on an edge he didn’t know existed. Has this what he’s been missing this whole time? He never wants this to stop; he needs so much more. Good God, Patrick has never been so close before. He can’t help the needy, breathy noises he lets out. Fortunately, David seems to enjoy all of his little sounds, based on the way he grinds his clothed cock against the sheets.

A second finger joins the first inside Patrick, David’s hand thrusting quickly. He curls his fingers, just slightly, and it rips a broken cry from Patrick. He quickly throws an arm over his mouth to try and muffle his sounds. David smirks into Patrick’s wetness, his tongue darting against Patrick’s clit quickly.

“Oh, shit, David,” Patrick gasps. He lifts his head to meet David’s lust-filled gaze. He trembles against David’s mouth. He needs-, he’s not exactly sure what he needs, but David certainly does.

David gives him one last lick before pulling back, just an inch. “It’s been five minutes,” he reminds Patrick softly, smirking up at him. He keeps his fingers deep inside Patrick, rubbing perfectly against this spot he’s discovered.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Patrick gasps, rocking down into David’s fingers. He keens quietly when David dives back in. He grinds against David’s face, needing more, but not having the capacity to beg for it.

David eats Patrick out like a starving man. He gives, so completely. With every experimental twist of his fingers and every lightning-fast stroke of his tongue, Patrick falls more and more apart beneath him. David gives Patrick a third finger, and is rewarded with Patrick’s hand gripping his hair.

“Kiss me,” Patrick pleads, and David is eager to obey. Patrick can taste himself on David’s lips, another new experience David has opened him up to. He moans into David’s mouth, gripping him tightly as David pads his thumb over his clit. “Please, David.”

“Tell me what you need,” David whispers, his wet lips trailing down Patrick’s neck. His stubble scratches gently. Patrick hopes he has thin, red lines on his fair skin in the morning.

Patrick whimpers, lifting his hips to grind more into David’s hand. “More,” he begs. “I need you. Please.”

David pulls back to look him in his eyes, searching for any uncertainty in Patrick. “Are you sure?” He murmurs.

Patrick nods, leaning up to kiss David slowly. One hand pushes David’s shirt up his torso, while the other grabs at the ass of his sweatpants. “I’m sure,” he whispers into David’s lips. “I’m sure. I want you.”

“Fuck, Patrick,” David groans, kissing Patrick filthy. He strokes the tender spot inside Patrick once more, releasing a delicious sound right into his own mouth, before removing his fingers completely. Patrick whimpers, but he knows there’s more coming.

David pulls back just enough for Patrick to pull his shirt off his body. As soon as the offending article is out of the way, David is back on Patrick, kissing him fiercely. Patrick fists his hand into the waistband of David sweats, pulling them off his strong legs. David kicks them away carelessly, more focused on the man beneath him.

Before he pulls himself away, David kisses Patrick once more, slow and filthy. When he pulls back and gets off their bed, Patrick whimpers at the loss, but is treated to the glorious sight of his David, wearing only his the rings on his fingers. Patrick has only caught glimpses of David before, but this is the first time he’s seen David completely bare, standing before him. His body is toned and long, dusted with hair, longing to be touched by Patrick’s fingers. His cock is hard and leaking, jutting out from his body.

He’s the most gorgeous thing Patrick has ever seen. His mouth waters at the sight of David; the statue has exactly nothing on David Rose. Patrick watches intently as David grabs a condom. When he’s caught staring, Patrick bites his lip. David smirks at him as he saunters back to bed.

“Like what you see?” David teases, climbing back into bed to settle between Patrick’s legs again.

Patrick grins up at David. “How are you real?” He breathes, unable to stop his hands from wandering over David’s bare chest.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” David jokes, leaning in to kiss Patrick with a smirk on his lips. Patrick nods slightly as he falls into David’s kiss. He knows this already, but he’d meant his breathless reply. How could someone like David possibly be real, be slotted between Patrick’s legs, extending hungry kisses to starving lips?

Patrick plucks the condom from between David’s fingers. He pulls back from the kiss to rip open the foil. David leans back just enough to give Patrick the space to roll the condom onto him. He throbs in Patrick’s hand, letting out a soft moan at the first touch he’s gotten. He’s this hard and wanting from pleasuring Patrick. Patrick makes a mental note to never let David go.

In less than an instant, David is capturing Patrick’s lips in a needy kiss. Patrick wraps his legs around David’s body, then flips them over with more confidence and coordination than he knew he had. David’s eyes are dark as he takes in the sight of Patrick settling on top of him. Patrick rolls his hips against David’s length a few times slowly, hands wandering down David’s chest. David sucks in a gasp, his hands reaching for Patrick’s hips, urging Patrick on.

Patrick snakes a hand between them, wrapping around David’s length. He strokes him a few times, spreading his wetness down David’s cock. David moans softly, his eyes fluttering shut as his fingers curl into the skin at Patrick’s hips.

“Yeah, fuck me,” David whimpers, meeting Patrick’s eyes again. “Fuck me like how you wish everyone else could’ve fucked you.”

Patrick whimpers softly. He positions David at his entrance and sinks down onto his entire length. He takes a moment to get used to the feeling of David completely inside him, but is quickly overwhelmed with need.

“Oh, shit,” David breathes, just from the first movement. Patrick knows just how he feels, his head lolling back as he settles.

Patrick’s body takes over, riding David hard. His strong legs slam him up and down, taking exactly what he needs. He bounces on David’s cock, twisting his hips with every downward stroke. The head of David’s cock kisses that tender spot inside Patrick with every thrust, making him quiver every time. He takes everything he needs from David, everything no one else could give him. David’s hands roam Patrick’s legs, fingers digging in to find some purchase. He watches Patrick with lustful eyes.

But after a few minutes, David can’t keep holding back, taking what Patrick gives him. His knees bend, so he can thrust up into Patrick with as much fervor. Patrick cries out, probably too loudly, but he doesn’t care. He’s lost in David’s body. “Oh, David,” he moans, eyes falling closed as he meets David’s perfect thrusts.

“Fuck, Patrick, you’re so hot,” David murmurs, pushing himself up to wrap his arms tightly around Patrick, mouth pressing to any skin he can reach. “You were so hot in the ballroom.”

The single word sends him back to hours before, to the best moment of his life up until that point. Patrick gasps, remembering that feeling of having the whole room cheer him on as it makes an encore inside Patrick. “Yeah?” He gasps. He clutches David closer, hanging on for dear life.

“So hot,” David mumbles against Patrick’s neck, bringing his lips to Patrick’s ears. “Everyone in there wanted you. They’ve been asking about who you are. Fuck, Patrick they all wanted to touch you.” David brings their lips together in a messy, dramatic kiss, greedily swallowing the noises Patrick lets out.

“Don’t want them,” Patrick mutters against David’s lips. “I want you.”

David groans loudly. “Yeah, you’re mine,” he grunts, clutching to Patrick until there’s no room between their bodies.

Patrick cries out, eyes falling shut, as David shifts the angle of their thrusts, just slightly. He grips the back of David’s neck and rocks into him, every cell in his body coming alive. “You’re mine,” he echoes in a possessive growl. “They want you, too. Fuck, even people who have never heard of the balls want you, and you’re mine.”

They meet half way for a feral kiss, all tongue and teeth clacking. David reaches between them and rubs at Patrick’s clit. Patrick cries out, muffled into David’s mouth. “You gonna come for me?” David asks, more breath than voice. Patrick nods furiously, knowing he’s close. “Yeah, come for me, Patrick.”

Those must be the magic words. Patrick clenches down and lets out a bitten-off cry. He squeezes his eyes shut, but still sees fireworks in the darkness. David rubs him through it, with little, upwards thrusts right where Patrick needs it. He trembles in David’s arms before collapsing against him.

His bones feel like soft butter as David soothes him softly. “Fuck,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering open again. He pulls back just enough to look David in the eyes, a lazy grin on his face. “You’re incredible.”

David grins right back, leaning in to capture Patrick’s lips. “I aim to please,” He jokes against Patrick’s lips.

Patrick nods, his grin only getting broader. “Yes, you do,” He comments appreciatively as he kisses David again.

David maneuvers them around, without breaking their kiss or pulling out, until Patrick is flat on his back. He pulls away slowly, leaving a dazed look on his lover’s face that he wants to see as often as possible. Eventually, David pulls out and removes his condom. He reaches for his own length, but Patrick beats him to it.

One of Patrick’s hands brushes David’s out of the way, grasping him firmly as he starts to sit up. David can’t help but lean into Patrick’s touch, letting out a soft sound at the feeling of Patrick wrapped around him again.

“You’re so good, David,” Patrick whispers into his ear. David moans at the praise, and Patrick smiles as he kisses at David’s jaw. “You’re amazing. God, I had no idea what I was missing. No one ever touched me like you do.” Patrick’s teeth graze downwards, and he sucks a little red mark into the hollow of David’s neck. David whines, throbbing into Patrick’s hand as Patrick jerks him hard and fast. “C’mon, David. Come for me.”

With express permission, David comes in Patrick’s hand with a cut-off moan. Patrick strokes him through his orgasm, kissing him softly on the neck. David shutters and collapses on top of Patrick. He stays there for a few moments, catching his breath, before rolling off of him.

“Fuck me,” David breathes, casting his dazed eyes to the ceiling.

Patrick chuckles, reaching over to run a hand over David’s hair. “I thought I just did,” he teases, softly. He wipes his other hand off on his shirt, still on his body, not caring at all about it or anything else right now.

David smirks, flopping his head over to look at Patrick. “Oh, you did,” he says. “Thoroughly. You were amazing.” He looks over Patrick’s face, softening as he curls a little closer. “How was your first orgasm?” He grins to himself, hiding it in Patrick’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there.

“Incredible,” Patrick sighs, letting himself melt into their bed. “Thank you, David. I had no idea.”

David tilts his chin upwards, mouth quirked in a proud half-grin. Patrick think he looks so gorgeous like this. He never wants those soft eyes to look away from him. He pulls David closer, an arm wrapping possessively around his body. He kisses those smirking lips softly, claiming them as his.


	4. four - mothers and fathers

It’s somewhere between late and early, and Patrick has David wrapped up in his arms and tangled between his legs as they laze on the couch together. They’ll probably crawl into bed soon, but they’re enjoying the empty space for just them too much. Everyone else is asleep, or elsewhere for the evening. They’ve been alone on the couch for hours. They both feel safe enough to trade tender kisses and secrets, stories they’ve never shared with anyone else.

Patrick loves to watch David open up. Every time he’s able to replace that upwards half-twist with a beautiful, bright smile, Patrick feels a little prouder of himself. Each previously untold story that gets whispered into Patrick’s ear leaves him breathless at how he could have stumbled on someone so perfect. If David can finally let himself open up, then all Patrick can do is the same.

They’ve already whispered about David’s parents, mostly his father and his film store empire that went under, and about Patrick’s parents too. They talk about what the first three semesters of college were like for Patrick, and they talk about what it was like for David to get a GED after dropping out when he was fifteen. They’ve talked their favorite memories, and their least favorite memories, too. They’ve shared their dreams, for the House, for themselves, for the world. David’s whispered about owning his own salon someday, where absolutely anyone can come in and get what they want done without being afraid of being judged. Patrick whispers about owning a little store, where he can sell wares made by the queer community that holds him so safely.

Patrick’s spent the last ten minutes murmuring fondly about his parents. He loves them, and misses them, and wants them so badly to see how happy he is now. As fond as his childhood memories are, the most vivid memory in his archive is the shocked disappointment on his father’s face, the horrified confusion and tears on his mother’s. It overpowers anything else, and he knows he can never go back home.

“You should write them a letter or something,” David suggests against Patrick’s temple. “To let them know you’re okay, you’re safe. You know, give ‘em a location, should they ever decide to come looking for you.”

Patrick huffs, shaking his head. “They won’t come looking for me,” he knows. “Maybe send someone else to try and find me, but they’d never come.”

“How do you know?” David prompts, light and soft, propping his cheek on his fist.

Patrick raises an eyebrow at him. “How many blocks away does your dad live?” He asks. “Has he ever come to see you here?”

David purses his lips into a tight frown. “Me and my dad were never close,” he argues, quiet but firm. “I’m positive he didn’t even notice I was gone for at least a week. But you and your parents, you’re close. They love you, and you love them.” His arms reach for Patrick, deciding the few inches between them is far too much space. His hands caress over Patrick’s shoulders, slowly drawing him closer. “I know all you can see when you close your eyes is their faces, but they still love you. They’re probably worried that you’re still on some park bench, mopping scraps to eat and keeping your little backpack on at all times so nobody steals your shit. They’d probably like to know that you’re okay. That you have people you care for, who care for you. That you’re not alone in this big fucking world.”

Patrick relaxes against David slowly, melting into his arms. He considers it. What would he even say to them in a letter? It feels like lifetimes since he’s contacted them; how can he possibly explain these life-changing few months to his parents so that they understand?

“Maybe,” he breathes.

David kisses his cheek softly, then once again. “Whatever you want, no pressure,” he promises softly, then kisses him again, in the same spot, just for good measure.

-

Patrick writes the letter, but not until a few months later. It’s a little, one-page ditty, front and back, that he draws up one night after he brings home another big trophy. He tells his parents about his job at the theater in one paragraph, and the House and the ballroom in another, and then as much as he can remember about David for the remainder of the page. After the envelope is stamped and shoved into the letterbox, he thinks of ten other things he wants to tell them.

He wonders if he’ll ever get a letter back. He wonders if they’ll ever even open it.

-

The bedroom door opens, and Patrick doesn’t look up. Alexis and Ted have been in and out since he’s started scribbling in his notebook a few hours ago, so he’s started ignoring the intrusions. It isn’t until he feels the bed dip that Patrick looks up and sees David looking at the various torn-out papers strewn around.

“What’s all this?” David asks, reaching for a paper to look at it a little closer. This particular page just has numbers scribbled furiously all over it, no detailing marks, but many of the figures scratched out.

“Hey,” Patrick says, a little distractedly. “I was thinking about something and I couldn’t figure it out.”

David blinks a few times. “Descriptive,” he deadpans. “Did you?”

Patrick looks up at him. “Huh?” He asks, trying to focus on David.

“Figure it out, whatever ‘it’ is?” David asks.

Patrick huffs softly and drops his pencil down on the notepad. “No,” he grumbles, rubbing at his face. “I’m just more confused than ever.”

“What are you trying to figure out, boy genius?” David teases lightly, crawling across the bed to sit a little closer.

“How we afford this apartment,” he explains. David jerks back in surprise, obviously having not expected the subject. “I mean, I’m being generous. If all of us pitch in half our paychecks and all our prize money, we still can’t afford this place, and Mother refuses to accept any of my money, and I’ve never seen or heard anyone else give any money, so I know she’s not accepting anyone else’s, either. I’m trying to figure out what I’m missing. Is she a secret billionaire, or something?”

David looks over Patrick’s face for an extended moment. “How much coffee have you had today?” He asks, face folding in concern.

Patrick shakes his head slightly. “Who keeps track of stuff like that?” He asks, turning away to punch some numbers into the calculator perched on his leg.

David looks over him for another lingering moment before getting up to close the bedroom door again. Patrick hardly notices, trying to figure out the finances for the House. He only looks up when David pulls the calculator away from him to snag his attention again.

“Mother has a man,” David explains, very softly, not wanting to spill her secrets to the whole House. “A sugar daddy. Most of the House doesn’t know about him. Basically, just the tenants of this room know, probably Cassie, maybe Stevie. Not even I have met him. I don’t even know his name. I could pass that bitch on the street and not have a clue that he’s fool who keeps me fed. He pays for this place and their little love-nest uptown.” Patrick stares at David, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “You can’t tell anyone. She doesn’t want anyone to know. She’d be mad as fuck if she knew I told you about him.”

Patrick’s mind races even faster, somehow. He hoped an answer would soothe him, but it only made him more nervous. “What if he leaves her?” Patrick whispers. “This building is so expensive, there’s no way we can all afford it. We’d all be on the street.”

David reaches up and cups Patrick’s cheeks, smiling softly. “Don’t worry about that,” he whispers. “They’ve been together for almost ten years. She doesn’t say much about him, but he treats her real good, like a complete queen. And, even if they end things, the House has a little nest-egg saved up. We could find somewhere else to live. We’d be okay.”

Patrick is soothed by this, just slightly. His eyes are still frantic, but his heart isn’t quite so pitched up. Patrick believes in his heart that ‘okay’ is not a good enough footing for his House. They deserve more than just ‘okay’. “We should get more organized,” Patrick decides with a very certain nod. “You know, monetarily speaking. Make sure we’ll be better than okay, even in the worst-case scenario.”

David’s brows raise in amusement at Patrick. “Sure, honey, you can totally be in charge of House finances,” David agrees with a fond smile pursed between his lips. “How about you have some water and step away from the calculator for right now?”

Patrick barks out a surprised laugh. “Fine,” he sighs. He looks over David’s face for a long time. “Why do you think she won’t tell you anything about him?” Their Mother was something of an open book. She loved to tell fabulous stories about her amazing lifestyle on the occasion she comes home and sits with the Children. Her bond with David is particularly strong, as he was the first child of the House of Rose. She tells him nearly everything, every passing thought she has. Her having a long-term sugar daddy seems like it’d be a hot button subject in the House.

David shrugs, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “She just-. Doesn’t. And, whatever, she’s not obligated to tell me anything, or whatever. But, I can tell she wants to tell someone, like Alexis, probably, but she has such a big fucking mouth she would literally turn from Mother’s door to ours and just blurt out whatever it is, regardless of if anyone is even in here or not.” David purses his lips as his eyes fall shut, shaking his head quickly. “I think she loves him. Like, actual, real, soulmate kind of love. I think she wears his ring.”

Patrick had, in fact, noticed that Moira wears a rather large diamond ring on her wedding finger, but he hadn’t put those two pieces together. “Wow,” he breathes. He leans back on one hand as he contemplates it all. “Do you think he loves her, too?”

David laughs, mostly in surprise. “He takes care of the whole House,” he says, softly, leaning in. “All the hormones and surgeries? All the garments and fine fabrics? This whole place? It’s all him. He’s, like, the unseen Father of the House of Rose. If he didn’t love her, I don’t know why he’d do all this.”

Patrick supposes it’s a fair point. “Do you think she’s the one who’s hiding?” He asks. “Or is she hiding him?”

David shrugs again with a sigh. “Who knows?” He exhale. “Maybe a little of both.”

“You really have no idea who it could be?” Patrick asks again, gathering up all of the papers on their bed.

“You mean, have I met any upstarting millionaires in the last decade?” He asks, sarcastically. “No, none I can think of. Though, I’d be happy to shake his hand. You know. Say ‘thank you’ for all he’s done for us without ever having met any of us.”

Patrick nods in agreement as he drops his notebook onto the ground. “So, probably like some Wall Street closet case?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

David nods slowly, his face rumpling sympathetically. “That’s what I was thinking,” he agrees, easily. “Poor thing. Do you think he’d buy us the whole ballroom?” Patrick locks eyes with David, wondering, faintly, if that would be any kind of worthwhile business venture. “It’s definitely be easier to win trophies if we’re competing at the Rose Ballroom.”

Patrick shakes his head, smirking. “We’d have to be so Legendary that we no longer have to walk,” he says. “Like, collectively, as a House.”

David scoffs. “Easy for you to say,” he complains. “You were a ballroom myth before you ever even walked.”

Patrick cocks an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress his pleased grin. “And whose fault is that?” He teases, leaning in until he’s a breath away from David’s lips.

“I’m pretty sure it’s yours,” David smirks back, leaning in to kiss Patrick softly. “Mm. C’mon, before I get distracted.” He takes one of Patrick’s hand, then stands, trying to pull him out of bed.

“Where are we going?” Patrick asks, happily going with David wherever he wants to go.

“For a walk,” David says, innocently. Patrick knows better. Their walks are never just walks; David always seems to have some tricks up his sleeve. “You need to stretch your legs, and I need dinner.”

That’s a good enough reason for Patrick.

-

The spring winds have a snap to them out on the fire escape, but when Stevie poked her head into his room with a joint in her hand, Patrick simply couldn’t say ‘no’. He regrets not grabbing a sweater, but it’s not the coldest he’s ever been. He’s not totally sure where Stevie got the pot, but it’s better than he expected.

Stevie passes the joint to Patrick, who easily accepts it between his fingers. He brings it to his lips and pulls the smoke into his mouth. He pulls the joins away to suck in a breath, then brings it back to his lips for another hit. He holds in his breath as he passes the joint back.

“You know, I’m from Canada, too,” Stevie says as she takes the joint. “Don’t tell anyone, though. Everyone thinks I’m from Michigan.”

“Really?” Patrick croaks, then exhales his puff, smirking at her.

“Yup,” she nods, just before she sucks in another long hit.

“Where from?” He asks, watching her lips wrap around the tightly rolled end.

She hesitates, exhaling slow. “Uh, a little town in Elm County,” she says. He stares at her blankly. “It’s in Ontario.” It’s still not ringing any bells. She sighs and holds out the joint. “It’s called Schitt’s Creek.”

Now, that does ring a bell. Patrick’s face splits into a wide grin. “The one with the sign?” He asks, taking the joint from between her fingers.

Stevie droops at the mention of the town sign. “Oh my fucking God, the sign,” she heaves, her hands coming up to press at her eyes. “It’s so much worse than you think it is.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Patrick chuckles, pulling in a breath of smoke. He distinctly remembers the sign, as his softball team has demanded to turn their bus around to take pictures.

Stevie turns her eyes to him. “It’s his sister,” she deadpans. Patrick coughs loudly in surprise. “Yeah.” She nods, eyes wide.

“You’re shitting me,” he says, then smirks.

Stevie rolls her eyes at his pun. “You spend too much time with Ted,” she accuses him.

Patrick shrugs, still smirking. “We share a room,” he defends himself. “And, honestly, that wasn’t intentional.” He grins a little wider. “Oh, man. Somewhere out there is a picture of a young Trish Brewer with that sign.” He pulls the joint back up to his lips, smirking around the damp mouthpiece.

Stevie frowns, her nose wrinkling up. “Who is Trish Brewer?” She balls in confusion.

Patrick stares at her blankly. “Me,” he provides, lowly.

Her eyes widen as she realizes what he’s talking about. “Oh shit,” she chokes. “Duh. Sorry. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot. I guess that’s a good thing right?”

Patrick smiles and passes her the joint. It’s nice, that he passes enough that the people who know more than most can momentarily forget. “Nah, it’s the pot,” He jokes.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes but sucks in another puff. “No,” she croaks around her hit. “You’re just so-.” She exhales through a shit-eating grin. “Butch.”

Patrick snorts and plucks the joint from her fingers. “I guess you’d know,” he teases her. “Since you’re the expert.” He waves the joint over her body with an equally as wide grin. Just as Stevie throws her head back and laughs, the window jerks back open and David peers at them through the open space.

“What are you doing out here?” David asks. Patrick turns halfway and holds the joint out for him. “Ooh, nice.” He steps through the window and squeezes between them, taking the joint with a fond smile to Patrick. Two puffs in, and David is already complaining about his day at the salon. Stevie gives Patrick a pointed look, but he loves anytime David is near.

-

As David is the only one with a house key who isn’t walking any categories tonight, he’s the one who was sent back to the apartment for the handful of things that were forgotten. He zips up his bag, filled with a shawl, a pair of slacks, and Cassie’s largest makeup bag, and pats himself down, to make sure he’s not forgetting anything else.

“Hello?” A deep male voice bounces off of the walls and into David’s bedroom.

David straightens his back in surprise at the unfamiliar voice, and leans out of the doorway. At the open door, all the way at the end of the hall, stands a middle-aged, slightly winded couple. They’re properly dressed in their very cute-for-the-suburbs, matching blue outfits. They look out of place at the mouth of his home.

“Sorry, we don’t want any,” he waves them off, walking back into his room to grab his bag. He’s far too busy right now to entertain these bible-salespeople, or whatever they are.

“Uh, sorry, no,” the woman says, very politely, just as David exits his bedroom and heads down the hall towards them. “We’re looking for someone.”

“Our son,” the man says, very firmly, like he’s been practicing saying it.

As David draws nearer to them, he can see the same, gorgeous eyes he’s been waking to for the last six months on her face. David turns his eyes to the man, and sees the familiar straight nose and wide jaw. His eyes dart back and forth between the two people, compositing their faces into the singular image of the man he loves.

“Our son, Patrick,” the woman explains, even though David was very quickly able to put those pieces together.

David jaw dangles in surprise, with wide eyes and a sharp gasp. “Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Uh. He’s not here. But I can take you to where he is.” Patrick’s parents share a hesitant look, but they both nod in agreement. “Alright, lets go.” He exits the apartment, waving them along as he locks the door behind him. He leads them down the hallway and back down the stairs.

They struggle with the stairs. It’s a little easier coming down, obviously, but they just climbed up all this way, too. They were out of breath before, only made worse now. David is sympathetic. “I know you just got here and all,” he tries to be polite to the parents of the love of his life, “but, um, we’re way late, so we gotta hustle.”

“Where, exactly, are we going?” The man asks.

“Oh, to the ballroom, the House is competing,” David says. He stops on the landing between floors. Something lights up in him, making him realize that they have no context for what’s going on. They showed up at a strange place, very far from home, and a complete stranger is leading them somewhere he can’t really explain. They have no context, and they deserve at least a little. David takes a breath and extends his hand to them. “I’m David.”

There’s a flash of recognition in both of their familiar eyes. “Oh, David!” Patrick’s mother gasps, grasping his hand to shake it. “I’m Marcy, this is my husband, Clint.”

David smiles as he shakes his hand, then goes to shake Clint’s. “It’s really nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer,” David says, softly. “Patrick talks about you all the time.” They both give him polite nods that hide a spark of shame in them. All three know exactly how things were left between Patrick and his parents before he ran here. They don’t exactly have the timetable to get into all of that right now. “Good things! I swear. Uh. We can get into all of that later. Or not. Whatever is most comfortable and appropriate, I guess. But, um, we definitely gotta hit the bricks, like, now.”

Clint nods and puts a hand on the middle of Marcy’s back, which gets them all moving. They make it to the bottom of the stairs and out the door and down the block before Clint asks, “What is the ballroom?”

David has never actually had to explain what the ballroom is to anyone, especially straight, white people from the suburbs of Toronto who are probably expecting some waltzing and foxtrot. This becomes evident as they walk down the streets of New York, and he stumbles through an explanation that only seems to confuse them further. Every phrase comes with an out-of-context definition that they understand even less. He’s not even a quarter of the way through it all before they’re approaching the thudding music of the Showcase.

“This might be kind of weird for you,” he explains, stopping them before they can go in. “And it might be weird for people in there, too. So. If I were you, I’d try really hard be open-minded.”

Marcy and Clint both look hesitant, but they follow David up the walkway to the door. David extends a double-cheek kiss to a drag queen in a shiny dress just outside the door, who holds it open for them with a lingering, confused look at David’s accompaniment.

“I’m gonna tuck you away upstairs, on the balcony,” David explains, leading them towards the stairs lined with lingering queers and trannies that give the Brewers confused looks. Clint and Marcy try not to stare, to extend polite smiles as they pass the mass people they’ve never seen the likes of before. “You can watch the categories while I find Patrick.”

The Brewers are still hesitant, but they’re here, which is a fucking lot more than most parents can say. Patrick had been so sure they’d never come, and, yet, here they are. It chokes David up a little bit, to see parents so willing to love their child. He clears his throat as he finds them a place on the balcony.

“Is it-. Okay? For us to be here?” Clint asks, just loudly enough over the music for David to hear him. It’s obvious that they’re getting looks from the ballroom attendees, as they’ve never seen a straight, white, middle-aged couple at the balls before.

“Yeah, of course,” David promises. “The balls are a safe place for all kinds, and that includes you.” He hesitates, looking them over. “But if anyone asks, say you’re with the House of Rose. They’ll leave you be.” David purses his lips and quickly tries to figure out his next step. “Okay. Enjoy the Ball.” He waves a hand over the balcony ledge, down to the runway below. “I’ll be right back with Patrick.”

He doesn’t give them an opportunity to say anything else, taking off, bag in hand, to find the House upstairs. Of course, the only place his notoriously late House could find is through an endless parade of twists and turns. Eventually, David finds them. He passes off the slacks to Waylon, and delivers the makeup bag to Cassie, before he finally finds Alexis.

“Where is Patrick?” He asks, loudly, to grab her attention from the clothing rack.

“Where is my shawl?” She asks him, gripping the rack to zip up one of her boots.

David groans, reaching into his bag to grab her shawl and throw it at her. “Alexis, this is important, where is Patrick?” He asks again, frustration cutting his voice.

“Where do you think? He’s walking,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “You just missed him, they’re calling his category.”

“What?!” He demands, but, again, gives her no time to respond before he’s flying down the stairs. He can hear, now that he’s actually listening, that Major Mock is, in fact, calling out Athlete Realness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers to himself. David shoves himself through the crowd of thirsty patrons, getting to the frontlines just as Patrick steps onto the floor.

Patrick is wearing a custom House of Rose baseball jersey, in bold red and crisp white. His name is printed largely on the back, above the number 12. The jersey is tucked into tight, white pants, with red socks coming up to his knees, and perfectly clean cleats on his feet. On his head is a baseball cap with a red rose on it. In his hands is an aluminum bat, silver and shining under the lights. He’s got black smudges under his eyes to complete the entire look. If David weren’t panicking so hard, he’d probably take a minute to appreciate how hot his boyfriend looks.

Patrick steps up to the imaginary plate, and the ballroom roots for their favorite player loudly. “Up to bat is the only boy who can hit any home runs in this Ballroom!” Major calls, having a lovely rapport with Patrick, ever since his first runway. Patrick has a way with people, and Major likes to know anyone who can cause waves. Patrick grins to himself, tapping invisible dirt off of his cleats with his bat. “The latest starter for the Legendary House of Rose, let’s give it up for Patrick Budd!”

As the room cheers for him, Patrick lifts the bat, squares his shoulders, and spreads his legs to the proper stance. He lines up, looking straight to Major for a pitch, bat swirling in anticipation.

“What you want from me, boy?” Major calls into the microphone, an expectant look on his face. “I thought you already had someone to play pitchers and catchers with you?” David’s face heats up at the innuendo. He forces his eyes to not glance up to the balcony, just in case the Brewers get the joke.

“Throw the ball, Major!” Patrick yells back, just audible over the music, heckling the host of the evening with a teasing grin. “I’m gettin’ as old as you out here!”

“Oh, the Babe Ruth of the Ballroom thinks he got jokes!” Major grins right back. He takes a step back from his podium and pantomimes preparing for a pitch. He throws an invisible ball at a hundred miles an hour down the runway, and Patrick strikes it with deadly accuracy. The ballroom’s collective eyes follow the imaginary ball, flying high in the air. Patrick follows it with his pointer finger, hand over his eyes to block the sun that doesn’t shine, before he slugs his bat over his shoulder and starts down the runway. 

It’s hard for David to not get caught up in it all. There’s never been anyone like Patrick, someone who is so different, but so perfect for this life. The ballroom loves him nearly as much as David does. He looks incredible on the runway, with the ease and confidence that only comes with being a winner. He’s a far cry from the young man that David spotted on the balcony almost a year ago. As gorgeous as Patrick looks, all masculine and sure-footed, David is still a wreck, hoping to God that Patrick doesn’t look up before he gets his scores.

Patrick holds the bat over both of his shoulders, flexing both biceps subtly as he struts. Hands reach out to caress him, and he smiles, just barely at them, but gives them no encouragement. He spots David, pointing the bat at him with a grin and a wink. David huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling his hand, silently telling Patrick to pay attention to the task at hand. The ballroom loves them together, a Royal Romance to swoon over. The glimpse of affection isn’t on brand with Athlete Realness, but embarrassing David publicly is very on-brand for Patrick, generally speaking.

David looks away from Patrick to the other contestants. They look great, of course, but they don’t hold a flame to Patrick. His Patrick looks like a real player, for a professional team, and these other Athletes look like imitations. There’s a tennis player and a basketball star looking slightly dejected that they won’t be winning grand prize in this category, because a Rose decided to walk it. Later, David will head about someone in soccer gear getting boo’d off the runway.

“Judges, your scores for Mister Patrick?” Major asks the panels. They hold up their scorecards. “Nine! Nine! Ten! Eight! Nine! Ooh, the judges are not feeling this category tonight!”

“Eight?” Moira calls, defending her son, marching straight to the front. Despite her pitch, most of the crowd can’t hear her. “Has that hideous hat blocked your vision? Has the diabetes set into your eyeballs? He was perfect walking down that runway!”

“Now, now, Madam Rose,” Major soothes her before she can get into a fist fight with the judge in question. “He’s still got the highest scores in the category. We can’t be awarding your House perfect scores just for attending!” She frowns, but says nothing further, folding her arms over her chest and shaking her hair over her shoulders. “Last call! Is anyone else walking on tonight?” After a long moment of no one moving towards the mouth of the runway, Major throws his hands in the air. “Grand Prize! Patrick Budd, of the House of Rose!”

Rusty, Lola, Ted and Stevie are all on Patrick in an instant, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Ted manages to hoist Patrick a few inches into the air, like he just won the championship for their team. He’s handed his massive trophy, and he holds it over his head with glee.

Patrick’s eyes meet David’s. Usually, there’s a proud sparkle in his eyes, but only glimmers of panic swim in his dark pools. It instantly sets Patrick on edge. Stevie takes his trophy to add it to their loot for the evening, and Patrick thanks her briefly before stepping over to David.

From up on the balcony, Clint and Marcy watch as Patrick slides a hand onto David’s waist, a bright smile on his face. Neither of them can remember him ever looking so happy. Then again, they never imagined seeing him this way, with wide shoulders and a slight shadow of stubble. He’s not even close to the athletic-female body that left Toronto. He looks like a young man, fit and ready for a game. David leans into his ear and whispers, and they’re smart enough to figure out what he could be whispering about. They watch in real time as Patrick’s face falls in shock. His eyes dart up to the balcony, right to where they stand, and he stares up at them, mouth agape. They both give him timid smiles, Clint lifting his hand slightly in a wave. Patrick quickly looks to David, who immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders and escorts him away from the crowd.

Clint and Marcy take a step back from the balcony and look at each other. “We should have written first,” Marcy says, dropping her eyes and shaking her head. “We shouldn’t have just shown up like this.”

Clint sighs, and rubs his hand over his face. “Maybe you’re right,” he sighs. “But we’re here, aren’t we? It’s too late to turn back now.” They’ve had plenty of opportunities along the way to stop and think about things. They wanted to know about Patrick’s life. Maybe they weren’t expecting to dive in head first, but it’s too late for ‘what-ifs’. He smiles a little, and looks down to the runway. “I just got to see my son win a baseball trophy. I never thought I’d have that.”

Marcy presses a hand over her mouth, leaning into his side. He wraps an arm around his wife, leaning over to kiss over on the top of her head. “Open-minded,” she reminds herself positively, nodding slightly as she folds her hands over the balcony railing. “It’s like a fashion show.”

Clint chuckles. “Yeah, honey, like you’ve never seen before,” he agrees, holding her a little closer. He has to admit, it’s a pretty effective distraction.

Meanwhile, David leads Patrick around a few smokey corners to a more secluded part of some back hallway, where only one old queen stands smoking a cigarette by the window. Patrick sucks in gulps of air in attempts to get his mind to stop reeling. “They’re here,” he gasps. “They’re fucking here, at the ballroom. H-how-? How did they find me here?”

David grasps his face gently. “Breathe, Patrick, calm down,” he soothes, his voice soft. “I’m so sorry. They- showed up at the apartment, and they were asking for you.”

“What?” Patrick demands, his eyes wild.

David lets go, and takes a step back. Patrick is immediately sorry for it; David is the only thing anchoring him right now. “I’m sorry,” David says quickly. “I had to. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Patrick swallows around the lump that grows in his throat. His eyes darting around, landing on the old queen, stubbing out her cigarette and clacking away to give them some privacy. “What are they going to think of me?” He chokes out.

David looks over Patrick’s face for a long moment, stepping slowly back into his bubble. One hand reaches up to stroke gently over his jaw, over the soft stubble that has been slowly growing in. “They were looking for you, Patrick,” he promises, his quiet voice holding firm. “Their son. That’s what they said. They want to see you. Not her. You. They came all this way to see-. You! Nobody in this ballroom can say that about their parents. I mean, my dad lives how many blocks away? They crossed international lines to see you, Patrick.”

Patrick’s eyes lock onto David’s. He sounds so sure, Patrick’s instinct is to trust David, but the gnawing memory of the last interaction he had with his parents always has him a little uneasy. He lets out a shaky breath and nods. “Okay,” he says. “Wh-what if you’re wrong?”

David gives him a soft smile, grasping his shoulder. “Then I will be here,” he promises in a whisper. “And we’ll get through this together.”

Patrick nods again, something new and calm washing over him. He knows, deep down, that he couldn’t handle this if David weren’t here. “I love you,” he whispers. He’s said it before, in passionate moments, or when he’s sure David is asleep, but not often, and never like this. David stiffens at the admission, his eyes growing wide as a breath catches in his chest. “You don’t have to say it back,” he adds quickly. Patrick knows that David has never said those words before, ever, and he knows it adds pressure to their relationship. “It just-. I needed to tell you.”

David looks over his face for a long moment, then draws him in for a soft kiss. Patrick allows himself to relax into the kiss, his arms winding around David’s body. He’s never felt more safe than he does when David is in his arms. David kisses him so tenderly that Patrick can taste the words that David has never said. It flows out from David to Patrick, so real that it could be his own love. He decides that he never has to hear the words back. He knows they’re just words. David’s complete idolatry for Patrick is too big for three little words, and Patrick knows that from every moment of their time together.

David pulls back, and Patrick’s dazed eyes look upon his misty ones. “I love you,” he whispers back, anyway, trembling against Patrick’s lips. Patrick’s insides sing. He breathes out a smile, memorizing how beautiful David looks right now. No one on earth could ever compare. David presses his forehead to Patrick’s, gently.

They linger in this moment for just a little while longer, their lips mere millimeters from each other as they share a private breath. Soon, they’ll have to rejoin the ballroom, and this definitely life-changing, mostly likely awkward moment of Patrick’s parents taking a peek into his life, but for now, they’ll have this. The world doesn’t feel so heavy here.

David slowly slides his hands down Patrick’s arms to lock their fingers together. “I guess we should be lucky they didn’t come last Thursday,” David jokes, softly, recalling the runway they’d walked as a House. The category was Cult Classics, and the House had very carefully selected Rocky Horror Picture Show. “I don’t think I could’ve made a good impression on your parents as Dr. Frank-N-Furter.”

Patrick could agree with that. He doesn’t think his parents could appreciate the tiny gold shorts he’d been wearing at David’s side last week, either. He can imagine his mother crying at the sight of his fresh scars on his chest that he’d been showing off for the first time. As he thinks about it, there aren’t a lot of ballroom outfits his parents would approve of. Really, his baseball uniform is one of the few costumes of his that his parents would be okay with. It feels very fortuitous that they arrived tonight, of all nights. He lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he nods. He squeezes David’s hands.

David takes a slow step back, attempting to drag Patrick along. “C’mon,” He says, but Patrick isn’t quite ready to let go of this moment yet. He pulls David back in for another soft kiss. “Mm, you’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” Patrick grins against David’s lips.

“No,” David lies, his lips quirking to one side as he pulls away, hoisting Patrick away from the wall. “Let’s go, honey. We don’t have all night for this.”

Patrick sighs softly, knowing that David is right, and lets himself be dragged away. He can handle anything right now. In truth, he’s missed his parents more than he can say. He never dreamed of them surprising him this way. He knows them, and they know him, too. He’s always wanted a surprise party, and this is pretty damn close.

He lets David lead him through the halls and up the staircase. He trembles as he walks. The floor threatens to give out from beneath him, to send him hurtling into a void. The only thing keeping him walking is the steady warmth of David’s hand in his. The Children of the ballroom give him looks, trying to figure out what pulled him from the runway so quickly. He pays them no mind at all. he can’t focus on anything but his feet beneath him.

Patrick stops at the entryway upstairs. His eyes have already fallen on his parents, who are sore thumbs in this crowd. His mother spots him first, tapping on Clint’s arm to get his attention. Clint spins around to look, and then they’re all staring at each other.

His parents’ faces are open, smiling; it’s a very far cry from the last time he saw them. They’re happy to see him, David had been right. An overjoyed laugh bubbles out of his chest. He can remember all the times before this that they smiled at him in the exact same way.

David squeezes Patrick’s hand, and it draws him back into the reality of the situation. The music is loud in his ears, suddenly, and he can hear Major reading some poor thing down below. To see his parents here is bizarre; as loving and accepting as his parents have always been, Patrick could have never imagined seeing his straight-nosed, Catholic parents in the Showcase Ballroom. It still warms him to his bones, to see that they followed blindly to find him.

His feet carry him towards his parents, and his hand refuses to let go of David’s. If David can drag him into the House of Rose the within first week they’d known each other, Patrick can absolutely drag David into the Brewer family now. As he gets closer, he tries to see if they’re different. He remembers the old reflection he saw so many months ago, and every day, he sees something a little different than the day before. He knows that he looks different, but his parents haven’t changed at all. They’re in their same, nice outfits they wear to nice restaurants. Their haircuts are the same. Everything about them is just the way he remembers, and it calms him in a way he could have never predicted.

Patrick only lets go of David’s hand in time to hug his mother. Her arms hold him tightly, the same way they would hold him after his nightmares, when he was devastated by his first boyfriend, when his softball team won the championship. He didn’t know how much he missed the inside of her embrace until she held him again. “Hi, Mom,” he mumbles into her shoulder. Marcy pulls back just enough to look at him up close, tentative hands reaching to grasp his face.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she breathes, an emotional squeak in her voice. Her hands stroke over his soft stubble, then down to his strong arms, giving him a fond smile.

Before he can have an emotional breakdown over that singular sentence, Patrick is pulled into a hug by his father. He can feel him let out a breathless chuckle against him, and all Patrick can do is hang on tighter. After a moment or two, they pull back, and Clint claps his son on both shoulders. “Look at you,” he says, fondly. “You look so different.” He looks pleased by it, like it isn’t as much of a stretch to call him ‘son’ to see him this way.

Patrick ducks his head and nods. “Yeah, I, uh, I had my top surgery a few weeks ago,” he explains, jittery with an unknown mix of emotions. “And I’ve been taking these hormone injections for almost a year.”

“Injections?” Marcy gasps, her mind jumping to a crisis. While her understanding of the Virus that has spread through this city and community is limited, she does know that the typical patients are gay people and drug addicts. The idea of injections being performed on her gay son makes her nervous.

“I go see a doctor,” he tries to soothe her. “She’s got a really nice in-home treatment room. It’s all very clean and safe, I promise.” He glances behind him at David and gives a small smile. “David would never allow me to go somewhere below standard.”

David rolls his eyes, not liking the sudden attention on him. “Excuse me for wanting you to have the best care,” He snarks, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

All three of the Brewers smile at David, like they’re pleased he dedicates so much care to Patrick. “Thank you,” Marcy says. David nods, and ducks his head, knowing that none of this is about him. Marcy looks back at her son. She takes him in, really seeing him for the first time. “Gosh, I cant believe its really you. I mean, I can believe it! You just look-.”

“Different,” Patrick fills in for her. He knows. He looks like a completely new person these days.

Marcy smiles fondly at him. “Handsome,” she finishes for herself. “I didn’t realize how much you look like your father.”

Patrick never thought he’d hear his mom call him handsome. His heart squeezes tears into his eyes, and he has to blink them away quickly. “Thank you,” he chokes out. He looks away from her to his father, but there’s not a lot of relief from his emotions there, either. He drops his eyes to the floor.

The ballroom isn’t exactly the best place to have this reunion. His parents probably aren’t as enthralled by the gayest parade in New York as he is. This all is too much for him, and he’s the one in a familiar place. “We should-. Do you-?” He stammers. “I think we should get out of here.” He looks to David for backup.

“Lets go get a slice,” David steps in with a very nice smile, one Patrick usually only sees when they’re on their own. It makes Patrick feel a little more comfortable with the situation. “I’ll go grab you a makeup wipe and meet you outside.”

Patrick smiles softly at him. “Thank you,” he says. David grasps his arm gently just before he walks away. He forces himself to not check David out as he walks away, his eyes returning to his parents, who are looking David over as he walks away.

Marcy’s eyes fall upon Patrick again and she lifts her eyebrows at him, almost as if she were trying to suppress her grin. “He’s very handsome,” she compliments Patrick’s taste. “He seems like a wonderful partner.”

Patrick clears his throat and tries his hardest not to grin wildly at her words. “Yeah, he’s something special,” he agrees, but stops there. If he starts telling them about David now, it’ll pour out, all at once. He’d much rather show them the man that he loves in real time. His eyes dart to his father, then he looks over his shoulder in the direction David just exited. “We should go. Get some air.”

“That’d be great,” Clint nods quickly, his hand finding a place on his wife’s back to prompt her. The three of them don’t need much more of a cue, they all start to move towards the staircase.

With only some slight maneuvering down the crowded stairs, Patrick and his parents make it outside the club, where a handful of queens are smoking and sharing a loud laugh. Patrick guides his parents a few feet away, thinking it’s too much for them, but Marcy smiles as she admires their gowns.

“I’ve never seen so many people look so beautiful, all at once,” she sighs, like she’s at some fabulous gala, a grand event at a royal castle, and not at the Showcase Ballroom.

Patrick’s lips quirk upwards as he looks over to the girls. He gives them a wave, and they wave back, greeting him loudly in return. One compliments his runway, the one he still is costumed for, and he thanks them graciously before returning his focus to his parents. They’re both smiling at the queens, too, a sight he’d never thought he’d see.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” he sighs, softly, full of wonder.

Clint’s eyes fall back on Patrick with a slightly bewildered look. “We couldn’t believe you’d written,” he admits.

“We were so happy when we got your letter,” Marcy adds with a nod. “We were so worried about you. I was so afraid that we would never see you again.”

“Patrick, what happened-,” Clint begins. And, as good as it feels to hear his name fall from his dad’s mouth, Patrick has to hold up a hand to stop him there.

“It doesn’t matter,” he decides, firmly.

“Of course it matters,” Marcy disagrees. “If we made you feel like-. We don’t love you? We were wrong. We never want you to feel that way. That look on your face-, gosh, it haunts me. There is no worse feeling than thinking we’d lost you forever. We owe you an apology for how we reacted.”

“We’re both so sorry, kiddo. I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting it,” Clint defends them, not that he needs to. Patrick understands. “We’ve never known anyone who’s-.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick interrupts them, putting a hand on either of their shoulders. “Really. It’s okay. I know it was a lot to spring on you. And it was my decision to leave, to come here. You don’t have to tell me you’re sorry.” He smiles at them, softly, relishing in the fact that they’re really here. “I know how sorry you must be, to come all the way to New York for me.”

“Oh, honey,” Marcy gasps, clutching his arm. “We’d dig all the way to China for you.” Her truthfulness shines in her eyes. He believes her.

Patrick forces himself to not cry. He lets out a shaky breath and shakes his head slightly. “Oh, man,” he sighs. “I never thought I’d see you here. When David said you were here, I thought he was messing with me.”

Marcy beams fondly at her son, at the mention of his boyfriend. “He seems like a very nice young man,” she says, knowingly, trying to prompt him again for any kind of details. “Really, very good-looking.”

Patrick ducks his head and smiles, nodding his head in a gently agreement. “Yeah, he is,” Patrick says. “He’s-. Great. Better than anyone I’ve ever met.” He glances back up at his mom, then to his dad, who smiles softly at him. He’s not sure if he can handle all of that right now, and decides to change the subject. “Uh-. What did you think of the ballroom?”

“It was wonderful!” Marcy gasps, her hands clasping together. “That man on the stage, he was so funny! And the costumes were so impressive. I had no idea anything like this existed!”

“You were great,” Clint jumps in with a bright smile. “Like one of the Jays, but in the wrong color.” Patrick grins wildly at his dad, more pleased than he ever could’ve known with that compliment. “The whole audience was cheering so loud for you, louder than anyone else. Your House-. It’s a pretty big deal, eh?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Patrick admits, almost shyly. “We win a lot of trophies. A lot of people want to join, but-.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“It’s exclusive?” Marcy fills in, beaming proudly that her boy got into a very exclusive House, even if she doesn’t know what any of this means. Patrick nods, like she’s right, but it’s not a big deal. “They picked you out of that big crowd of people and asked you to join?”

Patrick blushes. “Uh, it was twice as many people,” he admits. “And it was just David who saw me. But-. Yeah, basically.”

“Of course they did,” Clint puffs up proudly. “Why wouldn’t the best House want my son?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” David cuts in with a wide grin, appearing out of nowhere to join them. He passes the wipe he’s brought to Patrick, who quickly rubs away the black smudges under his eyes. “I was thinking we could walk over to Antonio’s. It’s so nice tonight.”

Patrick nods quickly in agreement, glad to have his anchor back. “Sounds great,” he agrees with a smile.

David smiles right back to Patrick, reaching over to rub his shoulder. “I am very excited to hear about Patrick as a kid,” he says, turning to look at Patrick’s parents. Patrick groans softly, knowing he should’ve expected this, but he smiles anyway. Anything that brings his complete family together is good enough for him.

-

“It’s official,” Cassie announces to the living room as she enters. All heads snap towards her as she flops her bag over the back of the couch. “We have reached Legendary status.”

“And what makes you say that?” David asks dryly as he walks into the living room, folding himself into the small space between Patrick and Stevie.

Cassie struts around the couch to plop into the spot where she’d flung her bag, carelessly sitting on it for dramatic effect. Most of the room can appreciate it. “That storefront that got rented a couple weeks back? The one by the Showcase?” She prompts, her hand waving to show off her new acrylics. They all know; the House of Houston had thrown a big stink about it, as they’d wanted to rent the space for a boutique, but their lease application had been rejected. “They got a brand new neon sign out front.”

“And?” Lola prompts, already impatient from the conversation she’d interrupted.

“It’s a Rose Video,” she smirks, crossing her legs. A gasping wave ripples through the room. “Two doors up from the ballroom! The Children will all know who we are now!”

“You know that Rose Video doesn’t actually have anything to do with us, right?” Stevie deadpans.

“Maybe they’ll hire you, Cass,” Waylon teases, a long leg extending over the coffee table to nudge at her knee.

She huffs, not expecting this reaction from them. “Whatever,” she groans. “Our House name on a big business by the Showcase, it means somethin’.”

“Shit, bitch, will you read my tea leaves next?” Rusty teases her from where he’s seated at his sowing machine. “Praise be to Miss Cassie Rose, the seer of messages.” Lola snickers and goes to join him at the sewing table.

“It’s a chain,” Patrick explains. “There’s one uptown, on 5th. They opened one on Prince, too. Everyone wants to rent movies these days.”

“What, are you sore about ticket sales going down at the theater?” Waylon coos, teasing him.

“Not even a little,” Patrick nods, firmly, because he doesn’t actually care about the movie theater, though they have been giving him more hours now that he passes a little more than he did before. “They buy just as much popcorn as they always do and leave just as much on the floors. They can do all that at home, I don’t care.”

David reaches up and rakes his hand through Patrick’s hair, examining how long it’s getting without paying too much attention to what’s going on. The hand is distracting, and Patrick can’t be bothered to focus, either. A Rose Video opening nearby is hardly dramatic news to pay attention to. He’d much rather relax into David’s shoulder. Cassie and the others continue to argue whether or not this will support them in their legendary status, but Patrick doesn’t listen.

-

Patrick has only been on the couch for all of five minutes when the phone rings. It’s been a long day. He got called into work early, and then was commandeered by Ted after his shift to come with him to find a present for Alexis, like Patrick would be any help at all for something like that. Ted caught up with Alexis at some park, and left Patrick to trek home alone, which he didn’t mind. The apartment is empty, which is odd, but not unwelcome.

The ringing of the phone, however, is unwelcome, because it forces Patrick off the couch with a grunt. He yanks the phone upwards and presses the receiver to his ear. “House of Rose,” he answers, looking over at the clock at the time.

“Who’s calling?” A familiar, slurring voice asks on the other end of the line.

“Mother?” He asks, for clarification. It’s unexpected to hear her voice in the earpiece. He’s never talked to her on the phone before.

“Oh, Patrick!” She realizes, which is a surprise, as she seems to be drunk, and she confuses Stevie with David, and David with Alexis, and Alexis with Rusty on the phone when she’d dead sober. He can hear people in the background of wherever she is. “Is David there?”

“No, not yet,” he says. “But he should be home soon.”

Moira exhales in relief. “Good, that’s very good news,” she breathes. “Patrick! Listen. It would appear that my gentleman-friend has stood me up after our most recent little spat. I need you to come and escort me home.”

Patrick hesitates. She doesn’t actually know that he’s aware of her secret lover; maybe she’s too drunk to realize she’s meant to keep a secret. “Uh, okay?” He agrees. She needs help, she’s asking him for help, and he will do anything she asks. Walking her home is easy enough. “Where are you?”

“Indochine,” she barks. “They have the loveliest little shrimpies here. Really excellent stuff. And the drinks! They take very good care of a lady here, my dear. Very good care. -Pardon? Yes, please, I’d love another, thank you, dear.”

Patrick’s brows raise in surprise at her location. He mouths the name of the restaurant to himself, already dreading the walk over. “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” he promises with a sigh. “Don’t leave, or I won’t be able to find you.”

“Yes, very sensible of you,” Moira compliments. “I’ll await your arrival here, then. Bye-bye, John!” And with that, she hangs up the phone.

After taking a moment to stare at the ear-end of the phone, Patrick hangs up and shakes himself out. He’s never talked with Mother on the phone before, and he’s never seen or heard her so drunk. This, whatever it’ll be, will not be something he’ll forget.

He ducks into his bedroom, grabs a hoodie, and shoves his arms through the sleeves as he stomps his feet into his shoes down the hall. He’s out the door in an instant, marching down the hallway. Just as he gets to the top of the stairs, he spots David on the landing between floors, just arriving home.

“Hey,” David greets warmly as Patrick meets him in the middle of the staircase.

“Hey,” Patrick beams right back, slipping his hand in David’s to drag him in the direction he’d just come. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, okay,” David says, surprised but willing to follow. “Where are we going?”

“Indochine,” Patrick explains, pulling David along as he descends the stairs.

“Indochine?!” David repeats. “Why the fuck are we going to Indochine? Let’s just go down to Chinatown instead, it’s way closer.”

“Not for us,” Patrick laughs, glancing at David from over his shoulder. “Mother called. She wanted us to come get her.”

David’s face twists in disappointed confusion. “Why is she at Indochine?” he grumbles. “She doesn’t even like Asian food.”

“She said her man stood her up,” Patrick explains, which stops David dead in his tracks. He gives a look that is equal parts horrified, concerned, and annoyed. Patrick has to pull him further down the stairs. “C’mon, she needs help. She’s drunk and stranded and we are two good sons.” David groans, but trudges along, anyway.

“You’re the good son, I’m just the heir apparent,” David mumbles sourly.

Patrick snorts, and drags David a little closer. “You know that makes you better than ‘the good son’, right?” He teases. He releases David’s hand to wrap an arm over his shoulders. “It literally makes you the favorite.”

David gives a whole body shudder at the very idea. “Horrible,” He sneers. “All I did was be a noticeable homeless teen before anyone else.”

Patrick rolls his eyes as the gross understatement. As the story goes, Moira had no interest in taking on any children, but David had been beyond special. Patrick knows that fact quite well. “Well, she did ask about you on the phone, so I’m assuming she really just wanted you,” he smirks. “But she sounded wasted and I wasn’t gonna leave you to deal with all of that alone.” David grimaces at the entirety of that sentence, and Patrick chuckles at his expression.

The walk is far too long, so they walk two blocks to the train and take the much quicker ride. They trade stories of their day, laughing and joking around. David takes a moment to complain about how hungry he is, and Patrick promises to take him for a late bite once Moira is safely back home. It’s a very standard train ride for them, only they usually have a few more brothers and sisters with them. Patrick is happy to take any and all alone time with David as he can. New York pays them no mind as they ride the train together.

When they walk through the station together, Patrick misses holding David’s hand. Sure, he passes these days, with his deepened voice and broad shoulders, but he misses holding his boyfriend’s hand. Brushing arms every few steps is hardly a worthy replacement.

It’s only a few more blocks to the hottest restaurant in Manhattan. The walk is nice, the coolness of the fall hasn’t set in quite yet. It’s late enough that the streets aren’t as busy as Patrick expected.

When the restaurant is in sight, and they’re just close enough to smell the food they cook, David’s fingers wrap around Patrick’s wrist, gripping tightly. Patrick looks to David’s shell-shocked face, then follows his eyes to the street. He seems to be focusing on a car right out front; admittedly, the car is very nice, though Patrick never had seen any kind of reaction from David over a car.

“What?” Patrick asks, ever-so eloquently, eyes falling back on David.

“That’s my father’s car,” he says, planting his feet.

“Wh-? How can you tell?” Patrick asks. The license plate isn’t customized, and the paint isn’t anything special.

Patrick’s eyes follow where David points, to the rose hood ornament at the front of the car. “That,” he spits, his eyes frantically wide. “The thing on the front.”

“The rose?” Patrick asks. “David, this is a new car. A really, really nice, new car, actually. How could you possibly know this is his?”

“He always made sure that stupid rose was on every car he bought,” David explains, frantically. “He would, like, polish it.” He presses his fingers over his eyes and shakes his head, then abruptly turns his gaze to Patrick. “Oh my fucking God. I can’t go in there. I can’t see him.”

Patrick doesn’t like it when David panics, and this is an entirely new level for him to witness. “David,” he grabs his attention easily with a loud pitch. Patrick reaches up to grasp David’s shoulders to pull focus. “Take a breath. You don’t have to go in. You can stay out here, and I’ll go in and find Mother.”

Patrick loses David’s attention before David can agree to this. His mouth falls open in horrified shock at something over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick turns to see that he doesn’t need to find Moira, because she’s being escorted out of the restaurant by a suited man with salt-and-pepper hair, his arm wrapped protectively around her slim body. He looks vaguely familiar, and Patrick can’t place why until he looks back at David.

“David!” The man exclaims in surprise, and it’s only then that it clicks.

“Dad?” David asks, mostly out of incredulity. He cannot believe what he’s seeing. Frankly, neither can Patrick. Looking at this man is like looking into the future, at a version of David when the two of them are old men together. It’s made only more bizarre by the sight of his arm being wrapped around their Mother.

Patrick looks back and forth between David and his father. He can’t find words. There are none available for Patrick to use. His hand grabs a hold of David’s wrist, so that the urge to jump his own father doesn’t completely take hold of him and he does something they’ll all regret.


	5. five - mister rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a few distasteful slurs and heavy discussions of HIV, and is probably the most triggering of them all, but it’s still pretty fluffy. This is your official warning!

“Mr. Rosencrantz, there’s somebody here to see you,” Vicky, John’s assistant, tells him through the intercom. She sounds wary, like she doesn’t actually want to let whoever this is through.

Today is the first day in weeks that John actually feels somewhat good, as opposed to the horrible, sinking feeling that’s been brewing inside since his son left. He’d suspected that his son was, well, different, but catching him with another boy in his bedroom was a pill so difficult to swallow, that John choked. It was a mistake to let him go, to encourage him to run, even, and he knew it the moment the door slammed. He expected David to come home that night, and then the next night, and then the night after that, but he hadn’t returned. Six weeks, and he’d heard nothing from his boy.

Today is different. Today feels like the sun is shining a little brighter, like the world is stitching itself back together. John may have been planning on leaving for a nice long lunch, maybe with nine holes afterwards, but an unscheduled guest would put a hinderance on his plans. Perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing.

“Send him in, Vicky,” John says through the com, willing to entertain anyone right now.

Not more than a few moments later, his office door opens, and in saunters a woman. She’s extremely tall, and rail-thin, and exquisitely dressed. Her features are sculpted and her eyes are sharp as she bores holes right into John’s soul. The very sight of her knocks the wind out of John. She’s beautiful, she shines this warm, golden light that John didn’t know he needed in his life until she stomped into his office.

“Mr. Rosencrantz, I presume,” she sneers, closing the door behind her and sitting down at her desk like he’d asked her to sit. “My name is Moira Opulence, and I’m here to have a rather unpleasant, but completely necessary, conversation.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” he tries to be as charming as he can. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Now, if this is about one of my stores going into your former place of business, then I’m afraid I have nothing to apologize for.”

“What?” Moira hisses, her face folding on confusion. “Your st-. No. I’m certainly not here to discuss the ins and outs of your upstarting business, no matter how interesting the rental of Video Home System tapes may be. No, I’m here to discuss David.” She crosses her legs and folds her hands neatly in her lap. Her eyes are trained on him, no hint of backing down in them.

“David-?” John jerks back in his seat. “You know my son?” It seemed strange, for a gorgeous woman in her thirties to want to spend time with John’s gay, teenage son.

“Mm, he’s my son now,” she disagrees, a flick of her brows to show her disregard over his claim.

“Excuse me?” He balks at her in surprise.

“To see a bright young man like him, living on the streets, it broke my heart,” she tells him, primly, “and I must admit, Mr. Rosencrantz, not much manages to touch my heart, nonetheless shatter it completely. Your actions towards him are unfathomable, to say the least.”

It hadn’t occurred to John that David had been on the streets. Then again, where else would a fourteen year old kid go? Shame washes over him. He opens his mouth to defend himself, but she cuts right back in before a single syllable escapes.

“Regardless on your feelings about homosexuality and our community, leaving a boy alone on the streets, sending not a single soul go find your only child, it’s abhorrent,” she scolds, very firmly. “Yes, he’s rude, and his people skills leave something to be desired, and he requires far more attention than I anticipated, but he is a good boy. One of the very best I’ve ever known. With a heart so big, it hardly fits into his chest. Anyone who can throw someone like him onto the street like he’s last week’s newspaper, pissed on by the new family puppy, must be some sort of reptilian monster.” She looks him over, her mouth pressed into a frown. “And his own father, too.” She tsks, and looks away, to the painting of a ship out at sea on his wall.

There’s silence in the room. Even the city outside seems muted against the truth. “You’re right,” John admits, softly. Moira’s eyes snap back to him in surprise. “You’re right. It’s- what did you say? Abhorrent?” She purses her lips, and nods shortly. “What I did was wrong. How I treated him was wrong. But he’s stubborn, and that isn’t my fault. I thought-. I thought he’d come home by now.”

“He did come home, just not to yours,” Moira announces with a wave of her hand, uninterested in lies of placation. “I told you, he’s my son now. You lost your parental rights when you allowed him to leave your home.”

John’s prominent brow raises in surprise. “So, your intentions with this meeting were to barge in, insult me, and admit to holding my fourteen year old son hostage?” He clarifies, just to make sure he understands what’s happening.

Moira lets out a humorless laugh. “Hostage?” She barks. “No, dear, I’ve hardly kidnapped him and held him against his will. He’s free to go anytime he pleases. No, he simply doesn’t want to come home to you. He wants to stay with me.”

“He belongs at home, with family,” John argues, not liking some strange woman, as captivating as she may be, telling him what to do.

“And that’s with you?” She asks rhetorically, leaving no room to budge. “In the home where he’s not allowed to be himself? With the father who cast him aside, who ignored him for years? Or is it in a home with a Mother who loves him, and wants him to be happy, to be the very best he can be?”

“Now wait a minute-,” John starts, wanting to defend himself, but Moira has no interest in listening to his excuses.

“And even if you were Father of the Year, if he no longer wishes to be a part of your household, you should be willing to respect his wishes,” she accuses. “If there’s any semblance of paternity within you at all, you’ll let him go, let him live the life he wants.”

“The life he wants,” John mutters his echo. “The life where he spends every moment of his time with faggots and tranny hookers? Drops out of school, gets into drugs? Gets that terrible disease? Ruins our good family name, the name I’m trying to build a business with?”

Moira scoffs and rolls her eyes. “No one will remember your name,” she says, blunt and impatient. “Rosencrantz is too long, and too Jew-y. He isn’t using your name anymore, anyhow.”

John’s face heats, half in anger and half in embarrassment. “Is there a problem with being a Jew?” He asks, roughly.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Rosencrantz, most trannies aren’t afforded the luxury of indulging in broad hatred of any kind, myself included,” she says, in the same, bored tone.

For a moment, John doesn’t understand. Then, he remembers how much room in his doorway she took up, he notices how big her hands are, sees the solid line where her hair begins, and suddenly understands why this beautiful woman took in David. “Oh,” he says.

“Is there a problem with being transsexual?” She fires right back, not backing down.

John thought there was. He was sure that every transsexual was either touched in the head, or gutter trash begging for attention. Then again, the only transsexuals he’s aware of are the hookers on the piers. He’s never actually met one before. This woman, she was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. Even still, knowing she’s not a real woman, she takes his breath away. She’s poised and eloquent. And it’s obvious that she loves his son. Never has John felt so confused.

“No,” he decides, right then and there. He huffs out a sigh and sags into his chair. “And there’s-there’s nothing wrong with being gay, either. David, he just-. He took me by surprise, that day, is all. I let my emotions get the better of me. If I could take back what happened, believe me, I would. There aren’t words to explain how wrong I feel about it all.”

Moira looks surprised, just slightly. Her edges soften as she listens to him. She didn’t expect this. She expected a long-winded fight with some ugly schmuck behind a cheap desk, one that would end with a couple hundred in hush money. Mr. Rosencrantz seems genuine in his regret. More than that, he is far from some ugly schmuck; every feature of David’s that is so classically handsome he clearly inherited from his father.

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” she says softly, her way of apologizing.

His eyes dart over her. He can’t make sense of her or anything right now. He lets out a sigh and looks down to his watch. “I’m going to get lunch,” he announces abruptly. “You wanna get lunch? My treat.”

She considers his offer, nose turning upwards, just slightly. “I suppose it’s the least you can do,” she accepts.

“That, at least, we can agree on,” He says. They stand at the same time, and he rounds his desk to open the office door. He holds a hand in front of him, gesturing to the open doorway. “After you, Ms. Opulence.”

Moira bites the inside of her cheek to suppress a grin. Never has a rich businessman in an expensive suit called her ‘Ms’. She shakes her hair over one shoulder and walks towards the door. “Moira,” she corrects him, deciding she’d rather have a friendlier relationship with him, as opposed to the hostile one she’d anticipated.

He smiles at her, and it catches her off guard. “John,” he introduces himself. She smiles back softly, extending her hand. John smiles a little wider, and takes her hand. “Shall we?”

Lunch is a lighthearted affair, much to the surprise of both of them. After light bickering, Moira successfully convinces John that the best place for David is with her, with people who are like him. There is so much of David that John has never understood. His clothes and his haircuts raised questions that David was never inclined to answer. Moira and the people she’s surrounded by don’t need to ask, they already know the answers intuitively. He loves David, but John knows that, no matter what he does, he can’t be what his son needs right now. This realization is devastating, but made much softer over a Ruben and in the company of a dazzling woman.

John, halfway through his sandwich, remembers that she’s not a real woman, and has to stop short and quickly reevaluate. Everything about Moira is uniquely feminine, other than her size. She is every bit the elegant woman he always dreamed he’d meet, like an exotic Duchess, or a French film star. Her turns of phrase are as alluring as the lips that utter them, and it is beyond confusing for John. What about her, exactly, isn’t real? He decides it’s altogether too befuddling keep track of, and doesn’t see the harm in believing that she’s a woman. There’s nothing he’s seen to indicate otherwise.

Their hands brush once. Her skin is softer than anything he’s ever felt. John decides he has to keep his distance after that, slowly inching his hands back towards himself over the span of a few minutes.

He insists that he gives her money each month, to take care of David, like child support. She snorts, and asks if they’re divorced. It twists John, for some reason. Moira doesn’t want to be viewed as charity, she doesn’t just want handouts, but John is thorough in his explanation of wanting David, and by extension, his Mother, to have a good life. Eventually, she admits to their current living situation: sharing a bedroom, with him on her daybed, in the House of Opulence. After that, John insists that he would find an apartment for them, and cover all the costs. She blushes, and he likes that look on her.

By the time they leave the Deli, John knows he’s done for. She’s far too charming for his interest to not be piqued, and far too beautiful to pretend like he’s not interested. She’s perfect. She’s going to walk away from him, and he wonders if they’ll ever see each other again.

“Can I ask you something?” He pulls her attention back to him.

Moira smiles, just barely, and nods her head. “Certainly,” she agrees.

“Do you really think no one will remember the name Rosencrantz?”

She gets this funny little look on her face, like she doesn’t know what to make of his question. “It’s too long,” she says, simply. “Rosencrantz Video is far too mouthy for your pedestrian customer base.”

“So the name should be shorter?” He confirms, knowing it’s probably not a bad idea. Something easy to remember that’s still original seems doable.

“Rose Video does have a much nicer ring to it,” she agrees. As the name lingers in the city air around them, and she smiles at the sound. “Rather dynastic, don’t you think?”

“Rose Video,” he repeats, testing the feel of it in his mouth. “I like it. Yeah, with a rose as the logo, and employees in red shirts. You know, it’s not a bad idea.”

The name bounces around in Moira’s head. “Do you really think so?” She pecks for a little more of his attention.

“I really do,” he promises with a fond smile.

Moira hesitates, not knowing exactly what she wants to say next. She is a woman of words, and to be at a loss for them is an unfamiliar feeling. If the conversation has dried, then she should want to leave, but she can’t bring her feet to take her home. “I’d like to apologize, again, for how I behaved as I entered your office,” she says, with some certainty. “I’m used to having to fight with every conversation. You are a very pleasant surprise.”

John chuckles. “I could say the same about you,” he says, easily. “I’m glad you’ve finally realized we don’t have to fight.” She smiles fondly at him, and anything else he could’ve said dries up. Has his heart raced so fast since sixth grade gym class? Has anyone else made his palms sweat like this? He can’t let her go, not yet, there’s no way this can be the end of their story. “I’ll, uh, I’ll have arrangements made. For the apartment, for you and David.”

“It’s a very generous offer, thank you,” Moira sighs, gently. She won’t believe he’ll find a place for her until she’s physically standing in the apartment, but it’s a nice offer, all the same.

“Where can I contact you? When it’s ready?” He asks, trying to find any shred of information about her that he can.

She smirks, her delicate chin lifting. “I know where to find you,” she says, slyly, slowly stepping away from him. “I’ll check in on your progress in, let’s say, two weeks?”

John’s breath catches in his throat. Can he wait two weeks to see her again? He’ll have to; it’s a much better option than her disappearing forever and taking his son with her. “Two weeks it is,” he promises. Vicky probably won’t like apartment hunting on his behalf, but he also knows that she’d never complain to his face, and she’ll be discreet. “I’ll be anxiously awaiting your visit.” Maybe he’s showing his hand too soon, but he can’t bear to let her leave without her understanding his complete and total interest in her. “It was a real pleasure to meet you today. I knew something special would happen. I’d say something very special walked into my life today.”

Moira’s eyes dart down to the sidewalk between her feet, trying to hide a very pleased smile. “You certainly know how to make a lady blush, Mr. Rose,” she says, composing herself so she can meet his eyes again. She smiles as her mouth forms his newfound name. “Johnny Rose has a very metropolitan sound, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s far more memorable than John Rosencrantz, but that’s my humble opinion.”

He has to admit, he likes the way the new name tumbles from her mouth and sticks onto him like velcro. “I don’t know if anything about you is humble, but I do like the name,” he says with a smile.

She considers him, her eyes wandering over him appreciatively. He’d forgotten what it felt like, to be admired by a beautiful woman. “Yes, I think its a wonderful name,” she agrees, softly and thoughtfully. She gives him one last smile before taking a step away, down the street. “I’ll see you in two weeks, John.”

And Johnny is left standing on the sidewalk, grinning like a fool.

-

Moira comes home in a flurry, giving no pleasantries as she grabs David by the wrist and drags him to the bedroom they share. He protests about being pulled away from whatever friend-of-a-friend creep was hitting on him, but she ignores him, tugging him along wordlessly.

“Uh, ow?” David complains with a bewildered look. “Oh my god, ow! Let go of me! God, what is with you right now?”

“Pack your things,” she says, forceful and soft. She points to the daybed, where his clothes are piled neatly. “Time to go.”

“What? Why?” David demands. “Are you-? You’re-.” He face falls, and Moira knows just where his mind has jumped. “I’m getting kicked out.”

Moira tsks as she closes the door, headed straight for her closet to pull out her suitcases. “Oh, David, we don’t have the time to entertain your pessimism just now,” she complains, patiently. “If you won’t get started on your own belongings, at least help Mother pack her precious items.”

“Where are we going?” He asks, grabbing her biggest suitcase and laying it open for her.

“I’m starting my own House, and I am taking you with me,” she informs him, very evenly. Before he can ask any more questions, she’s throwing things out of her closet onto the bed. “You and I have outgrown the House of Opulence.”

“I just got here two months ago,” David says, his face rumpling in confusion.

“Exactly my point!” She exclaims into her closet as she starts to pull dresses down from the rod. “You’ve only just arrived and already you’re outshining even the most seasoned of my sisters and brothers. Ever since Mother Carrie passed and left the mantle of House Mother to Amanda, we’ve been losing cred left and right. They’re holding us back. We could be great, we could build a Legendary House, and change the ballrooms forever! You and I are far too important to this world to be lost in obscurity with the likes of Opulence.”

As infectious as her enthusiasm is, David is grounded in realism. “Well, that’s all fine and good, but where are we gonna live?” He asks, before he’s willing to give her any more help with her large collection of gowns and wigs. “They’re not exactly gonna let us stay here if we’re not in their House.”

“I secured us an apartment in Brooklyn,” she says. His nose scrunches at the idea of having to live in Brooklyn, but having slept on the streets quite recently, he thinks it prudent to not make any commentary. “Not that it’s anything you need concern yourself with. I’ve got everything handled.”

David’s eyes narrow at her, looking her over for an extended moment, trying to piece together what that means. “You got yourself a sugar daddy,” he says, knowingly. Moira says nothing, for once in her life. “Didn’t you?” He prods further, demanding the tea.

“There may or may not be a handsome, well-off gentleman willing to finance our care,” she mumbles, quickly.

David smirks to himself, but goes to help her start to put her things in appropriate suitcases. “If we’re starting a new House, we need a name,” he tells her, half-grin still fixed to his face.

She hesitates, a flicker of a smile forming on her lips. “The House of Rose,” she informs him. “In honor of you, of course. But, roses are a powerful image: beautiful, intricate and delicate.”

“And barbed,” David adds with an absent grin. “I like it. The House of Rose. Hi, nice to meet you, I’m David Rose.” Moira looks him over with a fond smile, then goes back to packing. David joins her, loading her clothing into suitcases. “So, are you gonna tell me about him, or what?”

“Or what,” she repeats primly, offering no more details.

“Oh, come on!” David complains, still grinning that she found a man at all. “You have to tell me something!”

“No, in fact, I don’t,” she disagrees.

“Oh, so you expect me to live in a home financed by some guy I don’t know with no questions asked?” He asks.

“No, I expect many questions to be asked,” she fired right back. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath for any answers, dear.”

-

It’s less than a year later that Johnny sells his house and moves into a penthouse in Manhattan. He gives Moira a key, and tells her that he wants her there as often as she likes. She doesn’t leave the penthouse for two days. Most nights, even the ones where he’s away on business, Moira finds herself curled up in his bed, rather than her own.

-

“How is the House doing?” Johnny asks, so late one night, it’s probably considered morning. They’ve celebrated their reunion, twice, and discussed his long business trip in great detail. Now, he wants to know about what he really cares about. Of course, it began with David, but over the short years, it’s expanded slightly. Johnny’s never been to a ball, or met Rusty, the other son of the House of Rose, but it matters more to him than even his store does.

“Thriving,” Moira says with a smile. “David’s new friend, Alexis, has been living with us, I think she’s a lovely young thing, if not a bit rough around the edges.”

“A girl?” Johnny says in surprise. He doesn’t hear about a lot of girls, and he’s never heard of David showing interest in girls.

“She’s a girl like me,” Moira explains, softly. “And, for the record, before that mind of yours wanders too far, David still isn’t interested in any girls, even the ones like me.”

Johnny waves his hand, long past caring about anything like that. “I was just curious,” he promises. “I never thought you’d want a daughter.”

Moira scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I hardly even wanted your son, and, yet, here we are,” she snarks, only to make Johnny laugh. “She’s special, that Alexis. What she lacks in bone structure she makes up for in confidence. And her makeup skills! Good God, what she can do with makeup would make Elizabeth Taylor quake in her boots. It’s a real shame she can’t get consistent treatments, she would truly blossom if she could.”

“Treatments?” Johnny asks, have folding in confusion. “Is she sick?” The rise of people with the Virus worries Johnny every time he turns on the news, because he knows the numbers are rising, but no one is saying anything about it.

Moira’s face falls, slightly, her eyes darting away from him. “No,” she whispers. “She’s not. I meant hormone treatments.” She starts to pull away from him, but Johnny has no interest in letting her go right now. His arm flexes more completely around her, pulling her back. “John,” she murmurs, weakly, trying to scold him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, starting to sit up so he can look more completely at her. He reaches over and gently brushes her hair from her cheek. “Moira? Talk to me, please.”

“I-,” she feels her throat tighten. This is the best thing she has in her life, and she doesn’t want to jeopardize this. But she can’t in good conscience continue with Johnny without her newest truth airing out. “You sh-should get yourself tested,” she whispers.

“Tested?” He repeats in question.

Moira clears her throat. “For the Virus,” she explains, not meeting his eyes. Her heart freezes in her chest and threatens to shatter into a trillion little shards, ready to cut her up even more. “I have it. I’m positive.”

It settles between them, loud in the echoing silence. Moira’s blood goes cold when she feels Johnny’s arm tense around her. She doesn’t want him to pull away, even if she understands why he would. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t pull her closer, either, he just freezes.

“You’re sure?” He whispers, after a very extended silence. He’s never shown an ounce of fear before, this is the first little glimpse she’s ever gotten. Even still, he’s steady, a solid force for Moira.

“I’m so sorry, John,” she sobs, her voice a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Is there- someone else?” He asks, more broken up by the idea of her with another man.

“No!” She promises, sitting up slightly to look at him for directly. Unfaithfulness has never been an option for her, she would never do anything to risk this. “There hasn’t been anyone else. Never! No, I wanted-. That’s why I wanted to take the test. Because I-. I wanted to be sure before I asked-, before we-.”

”It’s okay,” he breathes. Johnny leans over and kisses her forehead, very softly. “I know,” he murmurs, before she can stammer herself to death. “Are you okay?”

No one has ever asked her that question, not once in her increasingly shorter life. “I’m afraid,” she whispers. “I’m afraid of dying, of leaving the Children alone in this world. I’m afraid of telling them, and watching their eyes drain all respect for me. I’m afraid of withering away into nothing, forgotten by the world.” She pauses, trembling against him. ”I’m afraid that I’ve killed you, too.”

“That’s not going to happen,” John promises, firm but quiet.

“You haven’t seen this disease like I have,” Moira croaks. “I know more people dead from this than I know healthy people. I’ve watched as my friends, my family, slowly disintegrate into nothing, watch as their bodies decompose while their soul still lives inside them. There are no treatments for this, none, and based on what I’ve seen from society, I don’t foresee one ever coming. I know that no one will ever do anything to help. There will never be a decent treatment, or a cure, or even a mention of it on television that isn’t more than a body count. It’s a death sentence, John. There is no wiggle room.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he swears, finally pulling her back to him. He holds her closely, protectively, and in a way she’s never been held. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“You have no idea what ‘everything’ entails,” she discourages him, even though she’s never felt safer than she does when she’s in his arms.

“Doctors appointments,” he lists, quietly. “Medications. Hormone treatments, for you and the Children. Food. Costumes for the balls. A bigger place for more Children to stay. Any whim you or the Children have, I’ll take care of everything, Moira.” It’s enough to make her listen. It’s enough to make her trust that he won’t leave. She can settle herself into his arms a little more completely. Johnny holds her closer, smiling against her forehead before kissing it softly. “I love you.”

Her heart stops, briefly. He’s never said it, though he’s shown it many times, even on the first day they met. She hasn’t been told that she’s loved since she was a child. “Even now?” She squeaks, tears burning her eyes.

“Especially now,” he breathes. Moira sags into him, sparkling eyes falling closed. She cries into his chest. She can’t remember the last time she cried.

-

Though Moira has always known herself to be a lady of refined distinction, Johnny is the first to treat her to such luxury. He loves to shower her with gifts, and take her on fabulous vacations. When he’s away on business can’t be with her, he sends her flowers and returns with things that make her beam. Mostly, Moira beams at Johnny so brightly because her life isn’t complete without him in it. Sometimes, the gifts he brings are God-awful; even the most acclaimed of the gifts he hand selects are questionable, at best. She just loves that he thought of her at all, that he came home to her, that her world brightens a million shades the moment she hears his key in the lock. Moira loves that, when Johnny looks at her, he sees the woman of finery that she is, and refuses to treat his woman to nothing but the very best.

Being presented with jewelry boxes is not something new for Moira, but this time is different. Johnny’s taken her to a gorgeous restaurant, one that serves so many courses, they lost count. Their second bottle of Champagne has been nearly drained by the time dessert arrives. Sharing bites of this luscious chocolate mousse has Johnny soft in the eyes as he gazes upon Moira. He has to look away, to force himself into remembering to breathe. He smiles to himself as he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“I was going to do this after we got home,” he says, “but I don’t think I can’t wait any longer.”

Moira smiles faintly at him, watching as his hand re-emerges. “You, impatient?” She teases, gently, her delicate fingers reaching up to brush over his cheek. “That’s unlike you, dear.”

“You have that effect on me,” He teases right back, a soft smile on his face. “You’ve changed me in ways I’ll never truly understand, but I’ll always be thankful for.” Moira smiles a little more at him, her heart throbbing at his words. “You mean so much to me, Moira, more than you could ever know. I was so sure I knew what love was supposed to be, and then I met you.” He takes her hand within his, and presses something hard and velveted into her grasp. Her breath catches in her chest as a wash of realization rolls over her. Moira looks down at their joined hands, and the little, black box between them. She opens it, and inside is a ring unlike any she’s seen before. It’s big, and ornate, and delicately beautiful, with little diamonds decorating a large, shining stone, sparkling even in this low light. A gasp escapes through Moira’s lips, and her eyes focus back onto Johnny. “I want you to be my wife, Moira.” A smile flickers brighter on his face. “I’ve already thought of you that way for some time now. You’re beautiful, and strong, and brilliant. You’re the Mother of my son. You’re everything I’ll ever want or need. You’re the very best part of my life, and I don’t want to live it without you.”

Moira gapes at him, then turns her open-mouth stare down to the beautiful ring, just for her. “I never thought I’d be anyone’s wife,” she breathes.

“Will you be mine?” Johnny asks, softly.

Her eyes dart back up to his, searching for anything that might be uncertain. She finds nothing of the sort in his eyes, only his infinite love for her. “Yes,” she sighs, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! I will!” She launches herself into the short, few inches between them to kiss his lips. Johnny smiles into her lips, his hands gently grasping at her jaw to pull her closer. “I love you,” she mumbles, sweetly, smiling against his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers back, and kisses her again, and then once more, for good measure, before pulling back the barest of inches. He reaches for her hand as he pulls the ring from the box.

They both watch, completely enwrapped, as Johnny slowly slides the ring onto her finger. It’s beauty is only enhanced on her hand. It looks as though it were crafted to rest there, on her ring finger, forever. Moira can’t stop staring at it, she never wants to look away, just Incase this is all a dream.

“Oh, John,” she sighs, leaning into his side and slowly, finally, looking back up to him. “John, it’s beautiful. I love it. Thank you.” She strokes his cheek with her left hand, and he leans into her touch.

“Anything for you,” he promises with a fond smile.

-

Even as much as the House of Rose grows exponentially over the years, it’s nothing compared to the growth of Rose Video. Johnny branches out across America, even opening a few locations in Canada. With every grand prize won by the Children, another branch of Rose Video opens, and, believe me, the Roses won a lot more grand prizes than any other house. It takes nearly no time for the Children to become as Legendary as the stores.

Moira brings Johnny pictures of the Children. He loves to see them, and their creativity, though most of them don’t know he exists. Every photograph is put into a little album he can look at when he’s away, or when he has nothing else to do. He loves to listen to stories of them dominating the ballroom. He wishes he knew some way to give them more, because such grace and glamor should be seen by more than the ballrooms of the city. Moira swears that what he gives is more than enough. He tries to show her modeling campaigns looking for fresh faces, and auditions for plays on the stage, and opportunities only straight, white people get, but she knows the world will never be ready for the House of Rose for as long as she lives.

-

The door to their penthouse opens and closes softly. Johnny had meant to stay awake, but the hours waned, and, after a very long day, sleep snuck up on him. He jolts when his unconscious hears the door, but softens when he sees Moira.

“Hi,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. He starts to sit up, but she’s at his side, pressing him back down for a tender kiss. He smiles into her lips as he lays back down.

“Hello, my love,” she greets, softly. “I’m so sorry I’m as late as I am.”

Johnny smiles and shakes his head in understanding. “It’s alright,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. “How was the ball?” He knows it’s the first time she’s walked in a category in nearly two years, focusing mainly on the Children’s categories. Something has called out to her, and she’d announced to him that the night felt too special to pass up.

Moira beams down at him. “It was a Royal Flush,” she announces, attempting aloofness, but he sees her genuine happiness poke through. “Grand prizes in every category.”

“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!” Johnny sighs, contentedly. “I’m so proud of you. Congratulations.”

Moira smiles softly, her eyes sparkling in a way Johnny rarely sees. “I believe David has met someone special,” she informs him, softly, then promptly stands to change for the evening.

“David did?” Johnny asks, fully awake now, and sitting up to hear more. He’s heard about tumultuous relationships the Children get themselves into, but David has never been serious about anyone. This is the first time Moira’s ever mentioned something like this. “Well, who is he?”

“A young newcomer to the balls,” she tells, taking off her earrings as she sits down at her vanity. “Alexis said he’s -what was it?- an ‘adorable little buttonface’, and, I must say, it’s rather apropos. I don’t believe he’s walked before; at least, I’m sure I’ve never seen him walk a category.” She takes off her necklace and places it carefully in the jewelry box. “I must admit, it’s terribly romantic. They locked eyes from across the ballroom, young Pat looking down upon David from above. It was just as I had made my grand entrance, so, of course, all eyes were on me; all eyes, except his.” She smiles fondly, pleased. “He’s like Ted- nearly. He doesn’t come close to passing the way Ted did before he started on his hormones, but, honestly, neither does David.”

Johnny is surprised by this revelation. “A transsexual man?” He asks, for clarity, not really believing what he’s hearing. “David is interested in a transsexual man who isn’t on hormones?”

“He’s not what you’re picturing, I can assure you,” Moira brushes the thought off quickly. “He’s more masculine than most men in the ballroom.” Johnny gives her a pointed look in the mirror. “I know that doesn’t seem like a very high benchmark, but, believe me, you’d be surprised. He’s very athletic-looking, like he enjoys sports of any variety. And so smart, too; he’s got one hell of a vocabulary on him.”

Johnny lifts his eyebrows. “Quite a statement, coming from you,” He jokes, lightly. “And does he like David, too?”

Moira gives Johnny a knowing smile. “Yes, I should say so,” she nods. “I would say he likes David a great deal. Most boys who attend the balls tend to develop a crush on David, but this does seem to be rather distinct. I think this could be very good, for the both of them. They talked and talked all night, and David was positively ear-to-ear. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

The news brings a warmth to Johnny he’s never felt before. Even in the place he belongs, the place where he fits in, David has always had a shroud of unhappiness. Johnny only remembers seeing a handful of smiles from his son, even as a little boy. In the pictures of David that Johnny sees, he never smiles, though sometimes he wears a half-smirk in particularly joyous moments captured. The news of a smile, a real smile, on David eases something in Johnny he didn’t know could ever be eased.

“From what little I’ve gathered about him,” Moira continues, picking up her hair brush, “he works, he has a real, paying job, but he’s on the streets.” She pauses, slowly brushing out her hair. “I think I may ask him to join the House.”

That comes as a surprise to Johnny. She doesn’t ask many people to join, especially newcomers that she’s never seen walk before. “Really?” He asks.

“There’s something special about him, John,” she says, putting her brush town and turning completely to look at him. “I’d rather have him now, than fight off some other House for him later.”

Johnny doesn’t completely understand the ball culture, but he does understand that his wife presides as Queen. What she thinks is important, he trusts completely, not that she needs his permission to do anything with her House. “I think it’s a great idea,” he smiles in agreement. His eyes wander over her form, trying to spot any differences in her from a few days ago. “And how are you? How are you feeling?”

Moira smiles fondly at him. Even after nearly ten years, she still never thought she’d have someone who cared enough to ask how she is. “Better,” she sighs. “Much better. The doctor says my T-cell count is still quite high.”

“That’s great news!” He says, happily, glad to hear that she’s doing better. He’s noticed that she’s gotten thinner, but she still looks healthy. “Things are looking up, aren’t they?”

Moira smiles a little wider at him in agreement, then turns back to her reflection to start her evening skincare routine.

-

Moira has always thought that Johnny wakes up too early. Most mornings, he’s long gone when she wakes, leaving a short, sweet note at her bedside. Sometimes, she wakes up enough to register the soft kiss on her forehead before he leaves for the day. This particular morning, Moira’s already managed to coax him back to bed. The sun that streams through their east-facing window isn’t early morning anymore.

She watches Johnny loop his tie back around his neck through the mirror. She smiles to herself at the simple domesticity she’s treated to as she sips her morning tea.

“I was thinking,” Johnny starts in the mirror.

Moira smirks slightly. “Always an important thing to do,” she comments.

“I think I’d like to see David,” he says, softly.

Moira freezes, staring blankly at his reflection. “No,” she states, evenly, after an extended silence.

It’s truly the only argument they have. David has insisted, many times over the years, that he’s not interested in seeing Johnny. More than once, he’s admitted that he feels as though Johnny wouldn’t want to see him, either. Moira has always known that it isn’t true, but she could never let him know that. If he found out that his own Mother has been seeing his father, the whole time, it would devastate him. As soon as Johnny and David meet again, he’ll know the truth, and Moira honestly isn’t sure if any of them would recover from it.

“Moira,” Johnny complains with a sigh. His shoulders sag as he turns to look at her over his shoulder.

“No, John,” she says, firmly. “I’m not interested in having this conversation again. Especially not now.”

“I haven’t seen my son in ten years,” he says, sadly, his eyes wide and begging. He is not a man who begs for anything, and it twists Moira up inside. “I’m-I’m not asking for him to give up his life, or for it to be a regular thing. I just want to see him. Just one time.”

It is all too wrong for a man like Johnny Rose to beg for anything, nonetheless to see his own son. But, the life they’ve all lead these past years are in a precarious balance. Moira is long past her internal debate as to whether her relationship with Johnny is morally right or wrong, but really facing the answer to that question would certainly throw a wrench into their very delicate situation.

“What are you expecting will happen?” Moira snaps. “That you’ll hug in some grand reunion? That he’ll say ‘thank you’ for being absent, even though you’ve known precisely where he was the entire time?”

Johnny frowns deeply at her harsh words. “It’s not like I didn’t want to see him!” He argues. “I’ve been asking this whole time! You’re the one who says he doesn’t want to see me!”

“He doesn’t!” She insists, though it’s only a half-truth. “And, even if he did, if he discovered that we’ve been together, as a couple, for nearly the entire time that you two have been estranged, he would never forgive either of us! We would both lose him forever, and neither of us want that, do we?”

“We won’t know until we try!” Johnny attempts. “What if I approached him alone? Without you?”

Moira scoffs. “And say all your dreams come true and you rekindle your long-damaged relationship with your son,” she snarks. “Then what? We pretend we don’t know each other? Or do we tell him the truth, that we’ve been lying to him all this time? Perhaps you’ll move into the apartment with all of the Children, and we’ll all play family, how does that sound?”

“Moira,” Johnny complains with a groan. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Oh, dramatic, John?” She drawls, her annoyance rising with every word passes between them. “You haven’t known him in ten years, you have no idea what to expect!”

“And you do?” He snaps right back. “It sounds to me like you don’t know, either!”

“Better than you do!” She insists, arms folding over her chest stubbornly.

“I’m his father,” John argues.

“And I’m his Mother!”

“No, you’re not!”

It’s like a bucket of ice dumped over her head and soaking into the sheet around her. Her mouth hangs open in surprise, gaping at him. Never, not once, had Johnny denied her maternal status over David; he’d insisted, many times, that she was just as important, if not more so, to David than his birth mother, as she was too young when he died for her to remember her at all. To hear him say otherwise rips her heart from her chest. She can’t speak. All she can do is stare at him in disbelief.

It lingers in the air for a long time. “Moira-,” Johnny starts to apologize, taking a half step towards the bed. She holds up her hand to stop him, looking away from him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Moira turns her nose up at him, pointedly not looking in his direction. He takes a deep breath, like air will replace the regret he feels. “I just want to see my son.”

She still says nothing, not interested in budging, not after that bombshell. He hurt her, with his words, intentionally. The last thing he deserves now is a reward. Her chin tilts further from him in an obvious display of stubbornness. Johnny’s jaw tightens at her frustrating obstinacy. His hands rub over his face with a heavy sigh. “We’re not done with this conversation,” he tells her, grabbing his jacket and briefcase. “I’m going to see him, Moira. With or without your help.”

With that, Johnny puts on his business suit jacket and exits the penthouse. As soon as the door slams behind him, Moira slaps a hand over her mouth to suppress a soft sob. So much of who she’s become is because of David; if she isn’t his Mother, then who is she? She curls up in on herself and lets herself rest and get over this ache in her chest, at least for now.

She goes about her day as usual, going to the nail salon for a fresh coat, and to the two different fabric stores uptown, in attempts to find the exact pattern and textile that Rusty has been envisioning, but finding nothing suitable. She pushes the heart-wrenching events of the morning to the back of her mind until the sun starts to set, and she’s faced with her evening plans with her husband. They have a standing reservation at Indochine, one they never skip. If he called to apologize, or called to cancel their dinner plans, he didn’t leave a message on the machine.

She volleys her standing reservation at Indochine back and forth in her mind. Does she want to face him? Does she want to have this argument all over again, just to be hurt? Does she want to pretend like she wasn’t completely devastated by him this morning? Does she let him know how badly she was hurt? She won’t let him have this power over her, she can’t let him win this.

She arrives at Indochine thirty minutes late for their reservation. Johnny isn’t there, waiting for her. They gave her table away, but the hostess promises they’d have one available for her soon. It’s slightly embarrassing to sit at the bar and wait, dateless, but time and refills lessen the embarrassment. It isn’t long before Moira, lost in her own messy mind, realizes that Johnny isn’t coming. She orders herself another drink, finishes it, and calls the Children to come retrieve her. Luckily, the only of her Children she’d trust at this moment is the one who answers, and Patrick agrees to pick her up after promising that David wasn’t with him.

After she hangs up the phone, Moira orders another drink. She tells grand stories about her life to whomever will listen, so mostly to herself. Eventually, Johnny arrives at the restaurant. He slots himself into her side with a gentle hand between her shoulder blades just as she’s being handed another drink.

“John!” She perks up at the sight of him on instinct, then slouches when she slowly remembers that she’s unhappy with him. “You finally decided to show up, did you?”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny apologizes quickly. “For being late, and for this morning. My meeting ran late. I-. I’m sorry, Moira.”

She purses her lips in a tight frown. “You hurt my feelings, John,” she accuses, softly. “Twice.” She holds up two fingers, right into his face. “Two times. I won’t allow that to happen again.”

“I know,” he cuts in, stepping slightly closer into her side. “I know, and it won’t happen again. I don’t want to lose you, Moira. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re the best thing that ever happened to David, too, and I don’t want either of us to be without you.”

“You never trust me, John!” She keeps accusing, her voice mournful.

“That’s not true!” He disagrees, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to them. “I trust you more than I trust anyone else in this world. I’m sorry for what I said. If you don’t think- that it’s a good idea, I’ll respect that. But you have to know that I do trust you, honey, and I’m so sorry for what I said this morning.”

Moira gazes up at Johnny and falls a little more in love with him. He’s a strong man, one she wouldn’t expect to apologize. He never has before, though he’s never needed to. Moira knows exactly what she means to him. Her eyes flutter to push away some tears that zing, leaning into his side. She doesn’t see it, but Johnny smiles softly down at her as he wraps his arm around her shoulders. She sinks into his warm side.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs into her hair. She nods in agreement, tired of these surroundings. Johnny kisses her head, then assists her as she stands. She stumbles, but he catches her. “You had quite a bit to drink, didn’t you?”

She glares at him, though it’s a little glassy. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she announces, like she’s still mad at him for her own assumptions.

Johnny smiles fondly at her, because he adores every part of her, including her dramatic nature. “I’ll always come for you, Moira,” he promises.

She softens, and allows him to wrap a protective arm around her middle and escort her through and out of the restaurant. It takes a few minutes of fumbling, but they finally make it out front.

Johnny looks up at the car, thankfully still out front, and then notices the man standing on the sidewalk by the front tire. He recognizes him instantly. His heart triples in time, and lodges itself into his throat.

“David!” He croaks in surprise, his hands curling tighter around Moira’s elbows. He looks so different than the pictures lead him to believe.

“Dad?” David asks, disbelief coloring his voice as vividly as it does his face. The young man standing with him, Patrick, Johnny can presume, looks back and forth between them, mouth open in surprise as they all take in the situation.

Moira slowly realizes what the three men have come to realize, and her eyes go wide in surprise. “Oh, fuck!” She yells, turning to look at Johnny, drooping in his grasp.


	6. six - the truth

“Oh, fuck!” Moira sighs, sagging in her man’s arms. It’s all too familiar for this to be some chance meeting. It clicks, in Patrick’s mind, that Moira’s secret lover, the Unseen Father of the House of Rose, is David’s actual, birth father, the one who let him go just over a decade ago.

Patrick trains his eyes back to David, who is far more bewildered than Patrick has ever seen. He’s somewhere between frenzied anger, and complete and utter shock. “What the fuck?” David cries, and bystanders on the street glance in his direction, then go back to what they were doing. It’s not the strangest thing New York has seen today. “I mean, what in the shitting fuck is this?!”

“David-,” his father starts, but David clearly has no interest in being interrupted.

“This is your man?” He demands loudly, glaring at his Mother, and pointing at his father. “This is why you never said anything? Because you’ve been fucking my father the whole time?” That sentence does get a little extra attention from New York.

“Oh, yes, let’s pour all our drama out on the streets, for all of New York to see, hmm?” Moira slurs, loudly, her arms flailing sloppily for emphasis.

“David, let’s go somewhere else, where we can talk about this, privately?” Johnny requests, escorting Moira down the five, carpeted stairs to stand a little closer.

“Absolutely not!” David insists. He jerks back to create distance between them, leaving Patrick to stand between them. “No! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Patrick’s hand around David’s wrist gets a little firmer, just to pull his attention back. “Maybe this isn’t what you think it is,” he tries, softly.

“That’s very kind of you, dear, but it’s exactly what he thinks it is,” Moira says, fondly, with her eyes closed, but in Patrick’s direction.

“Please, David,” Johnny pleads, softly, locking eyes with his son. “I just want to talk. I haven’t seen you in so long. I’ll-I’ll take you wherever you want to go. You can get out of the car any time you want. I just want to talk.”

David jaw sets at an angry angle, then he turns to look at Patrick. Without hesitating, Patrick slips his hand into David’s, willing to go wherever he was going. He watches David’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. “Fine,” David breathes, waving his ringed hand at the car. “Go, get in the thing.”

Johnny takes a minute to wrangle Moira into the back of the car. With a heavy sigh, David follows in after them. Patrick is the last to get in the car, and finds Moira and Johnny sitting opposite them, their seats facing David and Patrick’s, with Mother on Patrick’s side. The car had all the luxury of the finest of limousines, not that Patrick had ever been in one. The divider between the back and the front of the car is up, displaying what Patrick recognizes as the Rose Video logo. He feels out of place, with David’s father staring right at him. Does he even know who Patrick is, or did he invite a total stranger into his car because David pulled him in?

After an extended silence, David slaps his legs frustratedly. “Well, you wanted to talk,” he prompts with an irritated tone.

“Right,” Johnny says, jerking back, slightly. He spares a glance to Moira before fixing his gaze back to David. “I want to start by saying how sorry I am. Because, I am sorry. For everything. The last thing I said to you, I’ve regretted it since I said it. I’m so sorry, David, I-I need you to know that.”

“Mhmm, right,” David says, voice bone dry. “Sure. You’re really sorry, and the best way to convey that is to, what? Fuck my Mother for ten years?”

“David, honestly,” Moira sighs exasperatedly. “Is the harsh language really necessary?”

“Oh, was that too harsh?” He snaps, sarcastically. “How should I rephrase it? What’s more appropriate? For this situation?”

“David,” Patrick whispers, reaching a soft hand over his knee. Usually, Patrick doesn’t mind his mean streak; he typically finds it pretty amusing. But David is really hurt, clearly, and Patrick doesn’t want him to lash out at the only two people who love him as much as Patrick does, even if this is an admittedly tricky situation.

David’s eyes lock onto Patrick’s, and he lets out a breath. “Okay, I want to make sure I’ve got the complete Monet here,” he breathes out, turning his glare back to his estranged father. “You throw me out of the house for being gay when I was fourteen years old, and then end up in a ten-year-long relationship with my transsexual, adoptive Mother, who, despite having the biggest mouth in New York, kept it a secret from me, and everyone else, the entire time. Am I missing anything?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Johnny placates.

“I do not have a big mouth!” Moira complains at the same time, speaking over her husband.

“I mean, how would you two even meet?” David keeps ranting, like there was no interruption at all. “It’s not exactly like you have a lot in common. Right? You’re not in a common knitting club, or fans of the same sports games. This really isn’t making any sense at all.” There’s a very long silence in the car. David looks back and forth at his Mother and father. Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well?!”

“I introduced myself after you came to live with me at Opulence,” Moira blurts out, boldly, like she’s not ashamed of her big secret. Maybe she isn’t. “He agreed to give me some resources to insure your care, and a certain chemistry began to develop from there. Shortly thereafter, he and I began our romance.”

“Oh, so, you knew he was my father before you started fucking him,” David deduces from that statement. “Great.”

Johnny’s face rumples in distaste. “It’s not like that, David,” he huffs, starting to get impatient already.

“Isn’t it, though?” David snarks, and Patrick has to squeeze his knee a little tighter. David turns his eyes to Patrick, a hint of disbelief in them. “What?” He demands. “I’m not wrong, they’re fucking.”

“I’d liken it closer to ‘making love’,” Moira muses softly.

David shudders. “Ew,” he groans, his whole face flexing in distress. “God, why does anyone over fifty have sex?”

“Over fifty?!” Moira demands, glaring at him with some ferocity.

“Are you sure you want to spend this car ride talking about your Mother’s and my sex life?” Johnny asks at the same time, just as eager to change the subject. The first sex talk they had, well over ten years ago, was both very uninformative, and only about half as mortifying as this one is.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Patrick cuts in before David can make anymore vulgar remarks about them having sex. It’s not exactly something Patrick is interested in continuing to dwell upon.

“I knew this would happen,” Moira proclaims, her slurring making her confidence seem less trustworthy, for some reason. She looks from Patrick to David with an intense gaze. “I knew that, if you found out about us, you would never forgive us for betraying you.”

“So why would you betray me, anyway?” He demands, anger masking how hurt he is. “Why would you lie to me? For ten years!”

“I never lied!” Moira defends herself, an impatient finger pointed upwards to stop him short.

“Lies of omission are, in fact, still lies,” David forces out. “No, you didn’t explicitly tell me that you weren’t fucking my father, but you never said a word.” Patrick watches as, all at once, information slams into David. “Oh my god, we’re the House of Rose because of you!” His hands fly up to press at his temples, like it might get rid of some of this stress headache. “Not for me! For you! You-!”

“No, David, it was all for-,” Johnny is cut off by Moira talking over him.

“David, we never said anything because I always knew this is how you would react,” Moira says, and her voice takes on a bored tone, despite her loudness. “You’re always so dramatic, taking things to the extreme. The last time you had any news of your father, you left abruptly, and the last thing I need is you leaving the House over something so petty. The Children need you more than you could possibly know. I won’t allow you to abandon them, no matter how distressed you feel presently.”

David’s face twists in snide confusion at that statement. He opens his mouth to speak again, but gets cut off before he can even squeak.

“We didn’t want to betray you, son,” Johnny apologizes, softly. “We really-. We tried to keep things friendly, but it was-.” He glances at Moira and smiles, just slightly, in her direction. “Inevitable.” He turns his eyes back to David and speaks firmly. “This isn’t an affair, David. I love her. She’s my wife. Maybe not by law, but that doesn’t matter. The only person who means more to me than her is you.”

David, though slightly thrown by the admission of their love, laughs bitterly. “I mean so much to you, that you ignore me for ten years,” He recaps, sarcastically.

“Ignore you?” Johnny balks, staring wide-eyed. “I’ve done everything for you! All the costumes, and apartments. The heat, the food, the bed you sleep in, who do you think paid for that? Who do you think pays for hormone injections, and surgeries, and medical treatments?”

The air in the car seems to freeze at the last of his words. “Medical treatments?” Patrick repeats, his eyes darting to David, who looks just as confused as he feels. Patrick knows how much everyone spends, and on what. He hadn’t factored in anything medical, aside from hormones. “What medical treatments?”

Moira’s eyes get wide, and she turns her incredulous look to her husband. Johnny’s mouth drops open when he looks back to her.

“You haven’t told them?” Johnny gasps.

“Told us?” David repeats, loudly. “Told us what?”

Moira is quick to attention. “John,” she hisses, attempting to cut in, just as he spills her secret truth on her behalf.

“That she has the Virus,” Johnny says, like it’s obvious.

“John!” Moira shouts, sobering up very quickly, but there’s nothing she can do now. They’ve heard the whole truth now, there’s no going back.

Patrick can’t believe it, at first. He physically cannot believe that his Mother has the Virus that took their community down systematically. He thought it was some sort of statistic miracle that no one in the House of Rose had HIV, but, apparently, there are no miracles in the real world. The more he looks over her, the more he sees the symptoms he’d been ignoring. Moira’s eyes fall to her lap, shamefully, as though she has anything to be shameful about. Patrick can’t stop his hands from reaching across for her’s. He feels her squeeze back, softly, pleased for the support, but she can’t meet his eyes yet.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” David breathes, his voice soft to keep from breaking.

“What was I supposed to say?” Moira says, her head snapping up to look at him. “Was I to ask you to watch as I whither away, and then expect you to pick up the pieces and hold the House together? Should I have started with, ‘Say, David, you know that awful disease that plagues our every waking thought? I have it! I tested positive when I went to see if it was a possibility to-‘.” But Davis holds up a hand, having no interest in talking about their sex life anymore. “Your father has been good to me. Who knows how long I have been living with this new plague? And, yet, here I am. I’m alive. I’m healthy. And that is largely due to the persistence of this man.” She lets go of one of Patrick’s hands to take Johnny’s, who grasps it with both of his own. His wedding band glints in the low city light at David. “He cares for me because he loves me. But he wouldn’t love me if I didn’t love you.

“Now, I didn’t want you knowing because I don’t want you to bear the weight of my illness,” she carries on, her gaze set firmly on her first Son. “It’s mine, and mine alone. You take everything to heart so fiercely, and this is not a battle that I need you to fight on my behalf. What I need is for you to be a stronghold for the House, when the inevitable happens one day, not a sniveling little snot, crying constantly for his dearly departed mámá.” She takes her hands back so she can gesture at David’s face. “You are a diamond, David! You are the brightest star, one shining ever brighter with every ounce of happiness you find for yourself. You are the one of the very best things to have happened to me. There is no one else I could leave my legacy to.

“I was afraid that this truth, these truths, would tear you from me,” she says. “Or worse, make you feel like you must stay with me out of financial or moral obligation. I was afraid that, if you knew the actuality of this life, of my life, it would crush you. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. I know you may not believe this in light of recent expositions, but, I love you, David, and I don’t want to lose any part of you.”

There’s a long pause. Patrick can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He’s stunned beyond words at the entire situation. He looks from Moira to David, then to Johnny, and back to David. His hands itch to hold David, but he restrains himself by the barest of tethers.

David’s eyes have glassed over, focused out, in shock. He’s taking shallow breaths, but at least he’s breathing, at least he’s not thrown so far into his own dread. His lips are parted, just about to respond, but nothing comes out. He can’t find any words. There aren’t any available for him to use.

“I think,” Patrick breathes after an extended silence, “that we might need some time. With this.” He rubs his hands nervously on his jeans, trying to ease his own blustered emotions. “This is a lot to take in, in a very short amount of time.”

“Yeah,” David sighs, just a wisp of air. His glassy eyes look to Patrick, begging silently for some guidance.

Patrick doesn’t need much more than that look to know where to start. “We’re going to walk home,” he says, turning his eyes from David to Johnny and Moira. “We’ll-. Let’s-. We can finish this conversation another time.”

With a crestfallen look, Johnny nods understandingly, then reaches up over his shoulder to knock on the divider. “Stop the car,” he calls, just loud enough for the driver to hear him. The car slows and pulls over to the curb.

Before the car has stopped completely, David’s door is open and he’s stepping out onto the busy street, desperate to escape the tense air. Patrick’s hand finds the handle on his own door, but just before he can open it, he’s stopped.

“Patrick,” Johnny says his name so confidently, like they know each other. Does Johnny know Patrick? He seems to know literally everything thus far, this shouldn’t be such a stretch. “Thank you. For taking care of David. I always hoped he’d meet someone like you.”

It’s nothing but another bombshell for Patrick. He gives an empty nod, then forces himself out of the car. The city sounds so loud, compared to the hanging silence he’d been subjected to. David stands a few steps away, on the sidewalk, sucking in gulps of air. Patrick gets to David’s side as quickly as he possibly can, a gentle hand landing on his shoulder.

He’s smart enough to not ask David any obvious questions. Obviously, he’s not okay, and, obviously, he’s not ready to talk yet. Patrick squeezes his shoulder softly. “Let’s go grab a bite, huh?” He suggests, softly. David nods, meeting Patrick’s eyes. Patrick smiles softly and nods with him, then drags David down the sidewalk, away from the car with the rose-shaped hood ornament. “What do you feel like?”

“Don’t care,” David mumbles, eyes down to the pavement.

Now, Patrick knows much better than that. He smirks as he gives David a soft shake. “Street dogs and kraut?” He teases, because he knows David can’t resist making a face at the suggestion. David’s features twitch with displeasure. “Ice cream and cheese curds?” David sharply turns his head to stare, wild-eyed at Patrick. “Maybe a little light dumpster diving? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great,” David says, face hard and voice dryer than the Sahara. “I’m sure whatever we find will be better than that shitshow.” His arm flies behind them to point at the car they’re walking away from.

Patrick nods in agreement. He probably would actually take rotting food scraps over that extremely awkward and equally unpleasant interaction. “Let’s walk through Chinatown,” Patrick remembers David’s previous suggestion. “I know how you love a food crawl. We can even go down Canal Street so you can pick out the really good fakes.”

David sighs, leaning into Patrick’s side. Patrick wraps his arm more completely around David’s shoulder and holds him close. For just a moment, just a handful of steps, David rests his temple against Patrick’s shoulder, accepting his unwavering support. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Patrick smiles softly, his cheek resting against the top of David’s head for a second, then pulls away just enough to not draw any extra attention to them. His hand lingers between David’s shoulder blades for a few moments before shoving his hands in his pockets.

They don’t say much on the walk. The blocks stretch and stretch as they navigate the city. All they can do is find their footing and process it all. This blind-sighted the both of them, and it takes all the energy they have left to just find a place to sit. Just when David starts considering just plopping down on the nearest stoop, Patrick pulls them into the first place he sees with the word ‘dumplings’ written in big letters on the window.

It’s warm inside. The air is heavily seasoned with spices and flavors Patrick can’t name, even when he’s firing at all cylinders. Overhead, crackling ambient music in a traditional style plays softly, matching their humble decor. They sit opposite each other at a little two top, tucked away in the corner. Patrick watches David stare at the menu blankly, his mind clearly elsewhere. Patrick can’t say he blames him. It’s only because he absolutely has to keep it together that Patrick isn’t freaking out, himself.

The waitress comes over with an expectant look, and Patrick quickly orders for the both of them, selecting a few of David’s favorites for them to share, and a pot of tea. She grunts in recognition, then turns to yell into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Slowly, Patrick lets out a breath, sagging into his seat. “Do you wanna start?” He asks, quietly.

David shakes his head firmly. He props his elbows up on the table and presses his hands to his eye sockets with a groan. “I can’t make sense of this,” he mumbles into his hands. He pulls them from his face, slapping down onto the table, and looks at Patrick directly. “You’re very logical, right? I wanna hear what you think.”

Patrick purses his lips and looks away, trying to collect every tangent thought he’s had and collage them together. “It’s a sticky one, for sure,” Patrick sighs, meeting David’s eyes. “What if they’d told you? All those years ago?”

David sucks in a breath, having not expected that. “I-,” he stumbles over himself. “They-. I don’t know. I probably would have been more mad back then. Or less mad-? No, definitely more mad.” Patrick nods.

“So, is it that she lied?” Patrick asks, trying to understand what part makes him the most upset, so they can tackle that. “Or that it’s him?”

“Is there a difference?” David huffs. “She lied because it’s him. It’s not one or the other, it’s both, that’s the problem!”

“Why is it a problem?” Patrick asks. David glares at him with wild befuddlement. “Okay, just-. Hear me out.” David frowns, but he waves a hand expectedly. “They’re happy. He takes care of her, and all of us. He knew who I was, he said my name. He knows that she’s sick, and he’s still with her. Even if you decide that this is it, and we go, start our own House, and never see her again, he’d probably stay by her side, because he loves her. Is that such a bad thing?”

David huffs out a sigh. “That is grossly oversimplifying the situation,” he groans, though he knows Patrick has a valid point. “I’m not mad that they’re-. In love. Or whatever. That’s fine.”

“So, it’s mostly that she didn’t tell you,” Patrick deduces aloud. The waitress comes over with their pot of tea and two little cups. Patrick thanks her softly, watching as she walks away. As he pours the tea, his mind churns with questions. He looks back to David, sitting up a little straighter, sliding a teacup across the table. “When should she have?”

“What?” David jerks back slightly in surprise.

“When should she have told you? When would you have been less mad about it?”

David doesn’t have an answer. There isn’t one. He’s spent the last ten years trying his hardest to hate his father, using anything he can to validate his anger. There probably isn’t a point where he would’ve been less upset. David snaps his jaw shut and quickly lifts his teacup.

“You thought he didn’t care,” Patrick tries to reason. “He probably thought you hated him and wanted to keep his distance. You were both wrong. Yeah, it’s stupid that they hid their relationship the whole time, but they honestly believed you would leave if you knew.”

“So, you think they lied to me because they care about me,” he rephrases, his voice flat.

“Hey, I didn’t say I think it’s a good idea,” Patrick defends himself, smiling a little to lighten the mood. “I don’t agree with them. I just understand where they’re coming from. I know what if feels like to want to do anything to keep you, specifically, happy.”

David flushes, his eyes dropping to the table. All Patrick can do is smile a little wider. “Well, their dumbass plan didn’t work, because now I’m extremely unhappy,” David grumbles. “It’s not even that, either. It’s-it’s the-.” He can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. It’s such a curse on their community, David’s even too afraid to say its name.

Patrick slides a hand across the table. His fingers smooth over David’s wrist, dipping into the sleeve of his sweater to touch his soft skin. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. But she said that you can’t burden yourself with this.”

David lets out a humorless laugh. “How can I not?” He demands. “You said it yourself, I’m the heir apparent. I’m the one who has to take care of the House, and that includes her. How am I supposed to just sit by and watch her die?”

“You don’t have to think of it that way,” Patrick shakes his head. “You get to watch her live, for whatever time she has left. We know what HIV does to people, and she seems to be mostly okay. She’s still eating, moving around. She still looks mostly healthy. Plus, there are those new treatments, right? They’re expensive, but that’s not an issue, the way it is for so many like us, like her. You know how many people, how many of our friends, are living with this, and are using every penny they can scrape together for the balls? She’ll never have to worry like that. Let’s just take the blessings where we can.”

“So, I’m just supposed to muscle through wiping up her vomit? Watch as her body withers away, when the time comes, without complaint?” David keeps arguing, only getting shakier with each word.

“Please, she’d never allow you to wipe up her vomit,” Patrick tries to joke. “She’d hire-, actually, no, he would hire someone specifically to wipe up her vomit. She’ll probably make you paint her nails for her, though.”

David sniffles, but lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, and she’ll put you in charge of her wigs,” he plays along, because it feels better than wallowing in the sadness of the moment.

Patrick rolls his eyes fondly, his fingers stroking David’s wrist softly as he fails to suppress a smile. “I think Alexis would be better at that,” he delegates with a grin. “I’ll just stick to House finances. Probably have a sit down with your dad about spending habits. Should I start talking to him about retirement plans now? Or should I wait until the dust settles?”

David scoffs, flicking the inside of Patrick’s forearm, which only makes Patrick grin wider. “You are not nearly as funny as you think you are,” David says, evenly.

“Well, I’m no Eddie Murphy, but I do make you laugh,” he teases, knowing that David can’t resist his cheeky grin.

Slowly, David rolls his eyes to look away, but he can’t help but smile, just a little, at Patrick. He turns the wrist that Patrick is holding and grasps his hand. “I couldn’t do this without you,” he whispers.

Patrick smiles at David, squeezing his hand gently. “Yes, you could,” he disagrees gently. “But you’ll never know, because I’m here. You’re stuck with me forever, now.” He smiles a little wider, tired of being so serious for so long. They hold each other’s gaze for an extended moment before pulling their hands away. “I think you’re the first person ever to be mad that his Mother and father are in a relationship.”

David scoffs and rolls his eyes, pulling his hands up to rest his chin upon. “I think I have a right to be mad,” he defends himself.

“Oh, absolutely,” Patrick agrees with a nod, resting this elbow over the back of his chair and folding his fingers together as he regards David. “Just, you know, objectively speaking, I think they’re nice together.”

“That is absolutely the worst part of this,” David shudders. “Like, now, I know, so they’re probably not going to hide anymore, and I’m gonna be forced to watch Mother and my fucking dad make goo-goo eyes at each other because they’re gross soulmates!”

Patrick lets a slow grin spread over his face. “Do you think that, if we’re equally as gross, it’ll cancel itself out?” He jokes.

David’s face rumples in disgust. “Incorrect,” he mumbles, knowing it’s a joke, but not being able to help himself. “Though, it might make my dad squirm, a little bit.”

Patrick grins a bit wider at David, nudging his foot gently under the table. “It definitely won’t hurt to try,” he encourages.

It doesn’t take long from there for their food to arrive. With the mood sufficiently lifted, and steaming baskets places before him, David remembers how hungry he is. He barely comes up for air. Patrick is just pleased that he could lift David’s spirits at all. They change the subject, when they do talk. They’ve lingered on the heaviness for long enough, at least, for now. They can’t ignore it, Patrick knows that much, and he knows that David would be inclined to pretend none of it was happening. There’s too much at stake to ignore it.

When the bill comes, two fortune cookies are stacked on top of their waitress’ messy scrawl. Patrick picks one up and holds it out between his fingers. David raises one eyebrow, but takes the cookie, the plastic rustling in his fingers. He bites into the cookie, and pulls the slip of paper from his mouth. As he crunches, he reads over it. “ ‘If winter comes, can spring be far behind?’ “ David reads, mouth still full.

Patrick smirks. “See?” He goads, softly. “It’ll be okay.”

David stares at Patrick blankly for a moment before he slides the other cookie across the table. Patrick breaks open the cookie with his hands and pulls out the paper.

“ ‘It never pays to kick a skunk’,” Patrick reads, looking up to David with a smirk.

“Bullshit,” David demands, plucking the slip of paper from between Patrick’s fingers to read it for himself. “What kind of weird-ass fortunes-?”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but grins a little wider. He grabs his wallet from his back pocket and puts a twenty on the table. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, fondly.

“Can we get desserts?” David asks, soft and hopeful. There’s no chance he could ever be denied.

-

It’s hours before David and Patrick return home. They’ve distracted themselves quite well, but coming home forces them to remember the turmoil of the car ride. At least, now they’re both in better spirits. Patrick checks his watch as they climb up the last of the stairs. “We still have fifteen minutes before curfew,” he chuckles, softly.

“Well, apparently, I’ll be House Father sooner, rather than later, so I should probably start following the rules,” David says, loftily, then stops just before the top stair. “We could make out in the hallway for twenty minutes, though. Just to stick it to her.” His strong, delicate fingers walk over Patrick’s shoulders to draw them closer together.

On their own accord, Patrick’s hands circle David’s waist, looking up at his chiseled face. “Wouldn’t you rather make out in bed so we can just go straight to sleep after?” He groans, teasingly, more than willing to make out with David, wherever he’d like, for as long as he’s physically able.

“Wow, romantic,” David smirks, dragging Patrick closer. He ducks his head to press his forehead to Patrick’s. With a soft smile, Patrick nudges David’s nose. “But I would like to sleep for about eighteen hours. You do got me there.”

Patrick chuckles and leans the rest of the way up to kiss David slowly. He can feel David melt into him, the last of his tension easing with every stroke of Patrick’s tongue. Patrick slots a leg foot between Davids’ so he can step up without breaking their kiss. Quickly, David makes enough room for him on the top stair, pressing himself up against the bannister. No longer craning up his neck to kiss David, Patrick falls a little deeper into David’s lips. It’s easy for them both to get a little foggy, for them to forget their troubles on the stoop and get lost in each other. Maybe it’s a few seconds, or twenty minutes, or a hundred years, but time loses its meaning in their kiss. They grow older and revert back to children, all at once, giddy and patient, exploring and practiced.

As nice as it is to have a few inches of space alone, they know soon enough that they have to retire for the evening. They can’t just make out in the hall until the sun comes up and the working class of New York catches them on the landing. “C’mon, Father Rose,” Patrick teases, his voice low against David’s lips.

“Ew,” David shudders with his whole body, leaning away from Patrick. “God. Ew, Patrick. That is among the worst things you’ve ever said to me.”

“No?” Patrick grins, darting in to be a hair away from David’s lips. David leans in for the kiss, but Patrick pulls back slightly. “Is ‘Daddy’ better?”

David groans again, shoving Patrick slightly. Patrick throws his head back and laughs, slowly letting David go to step around him. David snags his hand and follows down the hall closely. ”You’re lucky you’re so cute and I don’t actually understand how money works,” he grumbles, mostly against Patrick’s shoulder.

“Yes, I am,” Patrick agrees, smugly, squeezing David’s hand. They’re very secure in their relationship; Patrick knows he means much more to David than that. “I’ve got you on lock, don’t I?” He stops in front of their door, turning to look at David.

Without hesitation, David winds his arms Patrick again, one around his shoulders, and the other around his back, gazing the few inches down into his eyes. “After today? Absolutely,” he agrees, more soft and open than Patrick could’ve expected to see from David, so soon after his anger and sadness. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

Patrick looks back and forth between David’s eyes, softening in his grip. The last thing he wants is to be rid of David. “That works for me,” he murmurs, tilting his chin upwards. David takes the bait and kisses Patrick softly. “You know I’ve been yours since I first saw you.” He smiles softly, and he can feel David’s lips brush against his. “You’re my gross soulmate, David.”

Patrick can feel David’s smile in his kiss. His heart throbs at the sensation. He loves to make David happy. The simplicity of a smile against his lips makes Patrick melt. Witnessing David being willing to share his light, even in these private, tender ways, makes Patrick feel a little stronger each time.

“So, what does that make you?” David mumbles. Patrick makes a soft noise of confusion, not totally remembering where they are or what they’re talking about. “Like, the Step-Father of the House of Rose?”

Patrick smirks, collecting himself slowly. “I haven’t asked you to marry me yet,” he teases softly.

David’s brows raise amusedly. “Oh, you haven’t,” he recalls, just as lightly. “That’s right.”

It isn’t as thought Patrick hasn’t thought about it. He thought about dropping to his knees and asking Moira for David’s hand the first night he was in the Showcase; it’s been on the tip of his tongue many times, but never muscled it out. There’s a lot of complexity to the legal status of any marriage they could have, but seeing that Mother and her husband don’t put a lot of stock in the legal system makes Patrick feel a little better.

“If I were to ask,” Patrick stretches with a grin, “what would you say?”

David narrows his eyes for a moment. His dark eyes dart over Patrick’s face with a nearly pained look. “I’d say that, regardless of that ridiculous, archaic question being asked, you’re my husband, anyway.” Yes, they’d thrown themselves head-first into the deep end of the relationship pool, but Patrick doesn’t regret it. The time doesn’t matter when their connection is so strong. In their world, a year and a half is a lifetime; most milestone relationships are three weeks from start to finish. This is forever, they know it with every breath they get to share.

Patrick smiles softly and pulls David in for a kiss, the soft, sweet kind that David once whispered he’d never had before Patrick. He’s happy to extend little bits of tenderness to David, because he deserves them. There’s nothing else that takes precedent for Patrick, nothing else he’d need for the rest of his life.

When they slowly pull away, David reaches behind Patrick for the doorknob, but he snatches David’s hand. He’s never worn rings on his left hand, not since Patrick has known him. He lifts the unringed hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his third finger, then opens the door for him. The question finds itself on the tip of Patrick’s tongue again, but he’s unprepared in this moment. The promise lingers unspoken in the air around them. The sweet gesture is worth it, all the same, just to see David flush.

Inside the door, the Children jump in surprise at their entrance. They’re wearing familiar, shell-shocked expressions, a few red-rimmed eyes littering the room. Patrick knows what’s happened here, he knows he’s walked into the aftermath that they left in the streets.

“You’re back,” Cassie sighs as soon as they walk through the doorway. She sags into the cushion on the floor she’s taken.

“Mother said not to expect you home,” Waylon croaks.

“She’s still here?” Patrick asks, surprised that she didn’t go back to the secret lovenest after everything.

“Is she alone?” David asks, just as quickly. His head snaps to the hall, to her closed door at the end of it.

“Yeah?” Stevie says, confusion lilting her voice. “Why wouldn’t she be alone?”

“What the hell happened tonight, David?” Alexis demands, sitting up a little straighter so she can face him more directly.

“What did she tell you?” David prompts, softly. He threads his fingers with Patrick’s and pulls him around the couch to join the others.

“Not a whole fuckin’ lot, just that she’s dying!” Rusty cries, dramatically. His eyes are more puffy than anyone else’s. Patrick knows how close his brother and their Mother are, he knows how gut-wrenching this news is.

“Why would she even bother to get tested?” Lola grumbles. “What good does that do at all?”

David huffs softly, rubbing his hands over his face. The brunt of this seems to have fallen to him. Patrick places a steady hand on his knee. “She got tested,” he starts, speaking slowly, “because she is in a very long-term relationship with the CEO and Founder of Rose Video. He’s been paying for everything, since the start of this House. Everything in here, everything we have, is because of him. His name is John Rosencrantz, and he’s my father.”

For a moment or two, a hush falls over the room as they absorb the information. It’s pure stillness between the Roses. It’s almost unnerving for Patrick, who’s gotten used to the constant flurry of movement and noise. Then, all at once, they all start speaking over each other. A cacophony of voices fire at the pair of them, asking questions and making demands far too quickly for Patrick to even understand it. He keeps getting bits and pieces of their outraged confusion.

“Wait, wait, what the flaming fuck?” Waylon rubs hand hand over his temples as his mind wraps around everything he was just assaulted with.

“Your dad owns Rose Video?” Ted repeats, booming louder over everyone else.

“Mother has a man?” Eternity gasps, her eyes wandering as she tries to piece everything together.

“Ew, ew, ew,” Alexis chants, her hands coming up to tug at her earlobes.

Rusty starts to cry again. Cassie crawls over to him and rests her cheek against his knee. His hand rests softly on her hair, trying to pull himself together, but completely unable. It’s too much, and Patrick knows that. He feels a little helpless, not knowing how to ease his House.

“Okay, okay, alright,” David announces, pitching louder and louder until they quiet down. “Things are gonna change around here, whether we like it or not. Starting with all of us going to the clinic to get tested, tomorrow, together. No exceptions. We’re gonna start healthy cooking classes and take family walks. Regular checkups with the doctor, all that. We’re staying healthy, just in case. Most importantly, we’re going to make sure Mother is happy. I’m mad as fuck with her right now, but I have the right to be, and you all do not. So we’re not gonna be petty, or secretive. And we’re not going to be sad for her. She’s doing a hell of a lot better than most people in her position. So we’re going to just be normal with her. Does everyone get that?” There’s a few moments of agreeable silence.

“Yeah, but when do we get to meet your dad?” Ted jumps in, always trying to lift the mood.

“Hopefully never,” David groans, rolling his eyes. “Realistically? Probably soon.” He looks around at everyone, and then everything in the room.

“Hey, since he’s with Mother, doesn’t that make him all of our dad?” Stevie ponders aloud, which earns her a glare from David.

“Is he like our Sugar Father?” Alexis joins in.

“Wait, so Rose Video does have to do with us!” Cassie sits up, quickly, pointing at Patrick. “I told you!”

Patrick furrows his brow, his head tilting slightly to the side as he looks at her. “Congratulations, you really do know everything,” he shrugs. She gives him a smug, mocking grin.

“So we’re all just supposed to be okay with watching Mother die like this?” Rusty demands, loudly, his voice crackling with emotion.

“Everybody dies,” Eternity whispers.

“We get to watch her live,” David corrects, using the same line that eased him earlier. Maybe he’s saying it to remind himself. Patrick squeezes his knee a little tighter, in solidarity. “We don’t know what can happen. Maybe she’ll live until we’re all dust, or maybe it’ll take her tomorrow, we don’t know. It’s one day at a time, until we know more. When that day inevitably comes, we’re all going to be there for her. We’ll cry and scream and yell, after she’s gone, whatever comes naturally. But not until then. We’re going to be strong, and supportive. Not overbearing and emotional.” He gives pointed looks around the room to those that might have difficulty remembering. Patrick knows, already, that he’ll have to remind David of this, too. “We’re all gonna be good Children for her. We’re gonna make good memories, and snatch every trophy, and make her proud.”

Rusty sniffles, but seems to be able to pull himself together. With Cassie at his feet and Stevie’s hand on his shoulder, Rusty seems a little more stable, like he might actually get through this nightmare with minimal tears. It’s lofty to expect this group of people to be strong in the face of their greatest fear, but Patrick believes in them. He knows they will make it through this together.

“I am so fucking tired,” David sighs, just loud enough for Patrick to hear him. He sags into the couch cushion, slouched over on his elbows, and rubs his hands over his face. Patrick smooths gentle circles over the middle of David’s back in silent agreement. Fatigue of his long day had just start to set in when Mother had called, and now it’s so far beyond. David sucks in a breath and sits up, wobbly. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk more about everything tomorrow.”

Based on the hesitation David has before standing, Patrick knows he needs a little assistance. He stands, himself, easily lifting David with him. Their arms loop together as Patrick leads him down the hall. “Goodnight, everyone,” Patrick says, turning his head to smile at his brothers and sisters. They give him a soft chorus of ‘goodnight’s as they walk away. 

Patrick’s eyes stare down the closed door at the end of the hall beside their own door. His eyes stay trained on it as they walk into their own bedroom. He stares until he can’t anymore, until they’re safely inside and he’s closed the door behind them. He escorts David to the bed and kneels down in front of him. He carefully takes off David’s shoes and puts them away, grabbing a pair of sweatpants for him.

David stares at the floor, eyes blank from the day’s long events. It’s all catching up, Patrick watches as the weight of it all settles on David’s shoulders. He crawls onto the bed beside David and puts his sweatpants in David’s lap. “C’mon, baby,” he mumbles, kissing David’s cheek softly. “You know you’ll hate yourself in the morning if you don’t wash your face right now.”

David blinks. He doesn’t groan in exhaustion, or make a joke about already hating himself, or even stand up to attempt to go and do his routine. He looks a little hollow, which is not something Patrick is used to seeing. Despite a monochromatic color palate for his clothing, David is the most colorful person Patrick has ever met; seeing him so dull twists Patrick up.

“David?” Patrick whispers, looking over his face. His hands wrap around David, his warm body solid in Patrick’s grasp. David lets out a ragged, shaking breath. As Patrick holds on a little tighter, he feels David tremble. “Oh, David,” Patrick whispers, holding him even closer, unwilling to have any distance between them.

David lets out a soft sob, then slaps his hands over his mouth. He tries to hold it in with his hands, but it’s a patching a dam with a wine cork: it bursts out around the stopper. “I’m sorry,” he tries to apologize, roughly, but Patrick shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” Patrick promises, a whisper right into David’s ear. All it does is make David cry harder. Patrick feels him lean all of his weight into Patrick’s side, accepting all of the strength and support Patrick has to offer. “You’re okay.”

It breaks Patrick’s heart, to see David so torn up. He’s seen him cry, but that’s usually at romantic movies or for dramatic effect. This is different. This is something Patrick wishes he could protect David from, but he can’t. Life is too hard for people like them, even beautiful Princes like David.

Patrick doesn’t need this to be explained, he gets it. He’s crying for himself, for the betrayal of the decade. He’s crying because he doesn’t get to be angry about it. He’s crying because he’s being thrown into responsibility he never wanted. He’s crying because he’s losing his Mother for the second time, and it’s much worse this time around. This is logical, this makes sense. Just because it makes sense doesn’t make it any easier for Patrick to watch.

Patrick lays David down, holding him from behind. He wraps himself around David, so nothing else can get to him. He locks his hands in front of David’s heart, to keep it safe from anything else that may want to hurt him. David feels safe enough in Patrick’s arms to cry softly for the fate of his Mother. All Patrick can do is hold him tighter, press soft kisses to the back of his neck, promise that he’s got him.

The heaving stops, eventually. David’s breath evens out after a little while, having cried himself to sleep. Patrick doesn’t have the luxury of sleep. His mind races and pounds. He has to work tomorrow, but being restful for the theater doesn’t seem so important, not when there’s so much to consider. How does he bear this weight? How does he ease himself, and ease the rest of his House? How does he become a pillar of strength when his own is crumbling? How does he carry on without Mother? Nothing feels certain, aside from David in his arms.

-

The HIV tests all come back negative. Rusty spent the two weeks it took for the results to come in pacing around, absolutely sure his results would come back positive, even if he’d been safe every single time. Lola worried, too, snapping at any and everyone who so much as looked at her funny, because she’d been considerably less safe than Rusty. But, all ten tests are negative, and the Roses exhale a collective sigh. After that, they all start taking extra precautions.

-

Usually, Wednesday night Family dinners are a jovial affair, with some light reading, good music, and far too much wine. This one, though, has a old-new member at the table for the first time, and, while the atmosphere isn’t bad, it is extremely awkward. The Children don’t know how to act around Johnny, and Johnny doesn’t really know how to act around the Children. After twenty minutes of uncomfortable hovering and polite small talk, dinner was finally served, and, finally, Waylon and Lola join them at the table.

Bowls of food get passed around, and what is usually sloppy scoops getting plopped onto mismatched plates, today seems to be careful servings on beautiful, white plates Patrick didn’t even realize they had. The first few bites of food have everyone giving praise to the chefs, but after that, it quiets down. The sounds of the city streets below are softened by a jazzy tune, played only once before, when Patrick entered the House for the first time.

It’s very hard for Patrick to not be extremely amused by how awkward dinner is. David, beside him, has spent the entire evening glaring at his father, but not saying a word. It’s extremely hard to not be amused by David’s restraint.

It’s somewhere in the middle of the third glass of wine that conversation starts. Of course, it’s Alexis who begins. “So, Johnny,” She starts, her eyes trained to him as she tucks her hands under her chin, delicate elbows propped up on the table. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, will you be joining us at the balls?”

Johnny clears his throat in surprise. “No, no,” he says. “I, uh, I don’t think I will. I don’t think it’s really my scene.”

“It’s not,” David says flatly. Patrick nudges him. “What? It’s not.”

“Don’t be rude,” Patrick whispers, but he’s still amused, and, frankly, doesn’t exactly disagree.

“You could come to the balls, if you wanted to, Mr. Rose,” Stevie says, as nicely as her dry voice possibly can.

“Thank you, Stevie, that’s very kind of you,” Johnny smiles, and Patrick watches her jump the same way he had when his name had fallen from Johnny’s mouth for the first time. “But I think I’ll just keep supporting from afar. I wouldn’t want to bring down the team’s batting average.” Patrick knows he’s in the minority of understanding the reference.

“Do you know all of our names?” Ted asks, genuinely curious. He stares at Johnny like he might have all the answers to every question.

For a moment, Johnny looks embarrassed. “Oh,” he says. His eyes look around the table at all his Children that have never met him. “Yes. I know all of your names. I remember why all of you are here, and when you got here, and what it is you do. Your Mother and I keep an album of all of your costumes from the balls at our penthouse. I guess it’s an advantage for me, to know you all when none of you know me. Well, none of you but David.”

“Mm, no, I don’t really know you, either,” David squeaks with a sneer.

“It’s not your only advantage, either,” Cassie mutters at the same time, her eyes wandering over Johnny’s form all the way across the table, having assumed the seat at the head of the table less than twenty minutes after he walked into their home.

“David, your Father is trying!” Moira hisses.

“So, are you all of our Father now?” Lola jumps in, a certain shimmer in her voice to make Patrick aware that she’s hoping to fuck with Johnny, just a little bit. “Like, obviously we don’t have the epic Rosencrantz eyebrows, so the family resemblance is a little off, so do you think you could ever really see us as your actual Children?”

Johnny’s eyes dart to Moira, across the table. She looks at him expectantly, like she has no say in the matter, though she would likely have the most say of everyone. “That’s up to you all,” Johnny says, looking around at all of them. “You’ve all been my Children since the beginning, even if you weren’t aware. If-if you want me to be your Father, I’m right here. I always will be. But it’s up to you.”

“That doesn’t sound weird at all,” Alexis snips softly, her eyes locking into David. The two share a look.

“No shit,” David agrees with a roll of his eyes. While he does think it’s sort of sweet that Johnny has a photo album of just the House stashed away at home, Patrick has to agree that it is equally as weird.

“Is he gonna move in?” Eternity whispers, leaning into Waylon’s side. Waylon frowns and shrugs helplessly, just as lost in the discomfort as she is.

“No,” Rusty grumbles. “Didn’t you just hear him? He has a penthouse.”

“Well, I think it’s nice we got a Father,” Cassie announces, tilting her chin up with a smile. “Ain’t no Houses in New York got a Father like you, so I say we’re lucky.”

Johnny smiles, bright and warm, at her. “Thank you, Cassie,” he says.

“Yes, thank you, Cassandra,” Moira agrees with her husband, giving the daughter sitting closest to her a fond smile. “We’re extremely lucky to have a man like your Father caring for this House. I think we all need to begin showing a little appreciation. This little family meal we’ve prepared is a nice start.”

“Sorry, ‘we’?” Lola repeats, snapping her head to look at Moira. “If you say this ‘ehn-chilada’ recipe is yours-.”

“We’re not getting into this again,” David groans, his hands coming up to press at his temples.

“Ma, I love you, but no white lady is making my abuela’s enchiladas like this,” Lola argues. “Especially not you.”

“I believe I have proven myself a worthy adversary to the stovetop,” Moira defends herself. “If need be, I can do so again.”

“Can you, though?” David sneers, vividly remembering being forced into making questionable dinner for the family. “Can you do that?”

“Don’t be a dick, David,” Alexis hisses.

“Oh, are you volunteering yourself to be sous-chef this time?” He snaps her her, pointedly. Alexis’ mouth snaps shut and she looks down at her plate. “Mhmm, that’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry,” Rusty jumps in, not sounding sorry at all, his fork slamming down on the table. “Why are we pretending like everything’s all cool?” No one has a decent response for this. No one has been cool this entire time, but Patrick knows that Rusty is referring to the elephant in the room. “Like, why have we all been sittin’ around, like you’re not dying right now,” he waves a hand to the end of the table, where his Mother sits, “and like you haven’t been in total stress mode for the last month,” he waves his hand at David, “and like this whole situation isn’t the most fucked up, dramatic shit we ever witnessed?” He waves his hand at Johnny. “You’re all so focused on making sure everything stays the same, but it’s not! It’s never gonna be the same! There’s the ‘before’, and there’s the ‘after’, and we are now solidly in the ‘after’ portion. So let’s just all agree to stop pretending like everything’s normal.”

“This is the ‘normal’ now,” David jumps in as soon as Rusty takes a breath. “We’re pretending this is all fine and chill until it actually is, because we don’t have any other choice.” Patrick puts a hand on David’s shoulder. “No, it’s true. We don’t have a choice.” He turns his gaze to Moira. “You’re never going to get a cure. We all know how this road ends. And yeah,” his head swivels in the other direction to look at his father, “this is some fucked up, dramatic shit, but it happened, it’s still happening, obviously, and I have to learn to live with that.” He looks at all of his brothers and sisters around the table before locking eyes with Rusty. “Life carries on, doesn’t it? Whether we’re ready or not, so we might as well have a nice family dinner to try and normalize our new normal, shall we?”

There’s a long silence, as everyone settles into this. There’s no going back to the way things were. But, if they had the choice, would they go back? Was blissful ignorance so much better than knowing the truth? Patrick certainly wouldn’t go back. He’s a man who likes to carry out a task to completion, and the missing pieces of the puzzle had been gnawing at him. As stressed and upset as David has been about the whole thing, it’s brought them closer, both to each other, and to the House.

Moira, at the end of the table, hides a pleased smile behind her wine glass. There aren’t words to express how glad she is that the House has David, that she still has David. When the time comes, the House will be fine in David’s soft, ringed hands.

“The food is delicious,” Eternity says, softly, taking a small bite. A calm rush washes over Patrick, and he lets out a breathless chuckle as Ted, Alexis and Stevie join in on the compliments on the food.

-

Toronto is nice in the summer. Patrick thinks it’s nice all the time, but it’s especially nice in the summer. He’s convinced David to travel farther than Philly so they can explore Patrick’s hometown together. It took a lot of convincing, too, as David has really stepped into the role of House Father, if for no other reason than not allowing his actual father to hold the title. Between that, the balls, and work at the salon picking up, David’s stress level was at an all-time high. Convincing David to leave it all behind for just one long weekend took a lot of finesse, but Patrick managed it.

Earlier in the day, Clint had taken Patrick to a Jay’s game, saying he’d always wanted to take his son to a baseball game. Marcy, apparently, has about as much enthusiasm for baseball as David does, so the two of them treated themselves to some lunch, window shopping, and people watching. David was surprised how much he liked spending time with her, for some reason. She’d been nothing but kind to him when they shared a slice during the Brewers’ surprise visit. David certainly hadn’t expected to have a grand old time with her, but he did, he really did. All of the sweetest, tenderest parts of Patrick came from Marcy, and it’s impossible not to adore her.

At the game, after a few beers and some good innings, Patrick softly admitted to his dad that he wanted to marry David. He was met with an overjoyed response, with Clint hugging him tightly and saying that it was great news. Briefly, Patrick can’t remember why he was so afraid to face them, all that time ago. Aside from that initial bump in the road, Patrick’s parents have been wonderfully accepting of him and his life. How many of his friends from the ballroom could have been met with such joy from his parents when he says he wants to marry a man? Not many, to say the least.

David had a similar confession on his outing with Marcy, with the only difference being that he admitted that he already sees Patrick as his husband, legal status or not. She’d scooped him up in a tight hug, expressing that she and her own husband always wished for a son, and now they have two. David definitely didn’t cry, it didn’t happen.

They shared a lovely, home-cooked meal, just the four of them. Sharing a laugh and a nice evening felt so easy, like it was always supposed to be this way. Patrick had warned David not to get a second helping of dinner, knowing there was no chance he could pass up Marcy’s chocolate mousse pie. David ignored the warning, and overstuffed himself, but cannot seem to bring himself to regret any of it.

Now, they’re left alone in the Brewers’ sitting room. Clint and Marcy turned in a little while ago, not used to the late hours that David and Patrick keep. It’s late, by suburb standards, but very early in Ballroom Standard Time. Though, after such a big meal, they’re getting pretty sleepy, themselves.

“I have something to tell you,” Patrick says softly, kissing just in front of David’s ear as he pulls him a little closer.

“Is it that you love me?” David asks, cheekily, leaning into Patrick. “Because I already know that.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m glad you know that,” Patrick smirks, pinching David’s side to get him to squirm further into his side.

“Stop, stop,” David giggles, turning to brush his lips against Patrick’s to distract him. “What is it?”

Patrick sucks in a breath to steady himself. “Your dad offered me a job,” he admits. David jerks back to stare at him, wide-eyed. Things had been slightly better between the two original Rose men since the Grand Reveal, but not that good. “I haven’t said ‘yes’. I don’t know if I want to. I wanted to talk to you first.”

There’s a beat, and then another. “What job?” David squeaks, slowly.

“He wants me to manage the store by the ballroom,” Patrick admits. “And oversee the one they’re opening in Vinegar Hill.”

David looks away, at the baubles on the coffee table in front of them. “Do you want to say ‘yes’?” David asks, softly, processing the information.

Patrick shrugs. “I don’t know,” he breathes. “It’s a nice job. No one else would ever offer me a manager position, probably ever. It’d also make me feel a little better about taking his money if I knew I earned it.”

David scoffs. “You earn the money,” he mutters. “You put up with me, that’s enough work.”

“I don’t ‘put up’ with you, David,” Patrick rolls his eyes, pulling David a little closer again. “It’s not work to be with you, I genuinely enjoy it. I don’t want to be paid to be with you, that’s called prostitution.”

“I know that,” David bites, but not very hard.

“I’m not that kind of boy, David,” Patrick teases.

“Oh, believe me, I know exactly what kind of boy you are,” David tells him with a pointed look. David knows everything there is to know about Patrick, he’s the world’s leading expert.

Patrick grins at David, unable to help himself. “If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t,” he promises, softly.

“Do what?” David asks, already moving on. He doesn’t want to think about his father the first moment he gets that he’s not occupying the same space Johnny. Patrick raises an eyebrow, knowing David hasn’t forgotten already. “Ugh. Do you want to?”

“Only if you’re okay with it,” he repeats, unwilling to do anything that David isn’t on board with.

David rolls his eyes. “If my opinion didn’t matter,” he prompts.

“But it does matter,” Patrick argues.

“Okay, but if it didn’t,” David repeats. “Would you take it?”

Patrick hesitates, but nods his head. Honestly, he’d be stupid to pass up a good job like this, but if David doesn’t want him to, he’ll gladly be the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.

“Then, I think you should take it,” David says, softly, like he doesn’t totally believe himself when he says it. “I’m only, like, pretending that I don’t know that man? I do know him. And I know he’s starting you at manager to move you up, so you’ll probably take over the movie rental empire when he goes the way of the Pharaohs.”

“Nice,” Patrick breathes with a nod, complimenting his turn of phrase.

“If I want Rose Video to stay in the Family, and I do, I want you to be in charge,” David says, primly. “You’re the only one I’d trust. More than I trust that fuckin’ guy.”

“Which fuckin’ guy?” Patrick asks, brow furrowing.

“Which fuckin’ guy do you think?” David asks, with a mildly pained look.

Patrick snorts, but looks over David’s face fondly. “You’d really put your beef with him aside for me?” He asks, only half-teasing.

David groans. “Is it beef?” He mumbles with a sneer. “I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it beef. Maybe Spam. But, yes, I would.” He looks over Patrick’s face for a long moment, then settles back into Patrick’s side. “I’d do anything for you.” He mumbles it, like no one else is allowed to hear, though no one else is around to listen.

Patrick smiles and turns his head to press a soft kiss to David’s hairline. His arm winds around David to hold him close. It feels indescribably good to be back on his parent’s couch, holding David. He wants to go everywhere he’s ever been, but with David this time. He wants to build a whole new batch of memories, made better than the old ones with the addition of David.

“Skydiving?” Patrick smirks into David’s cheek. He doesn’t actually need to see his face to know that’s a hard ‘no’. “Moth convention?”

“Is that a thing?” David demands, revolted by the idea.

“I’m sure,” Patrick nods, brushing his lips against David’s stubble. “What about an afternoon at a discount sporting goods outlet?”

David knocks his elbow against Patrick’s side, forcing a chuckle out of the smaller man. “God, you really know my weak spots, don’t you?” He snarks. He pulls back just enough to narrow his eyes at Patrick.

Patrick smirks, and retaliates for the distance by sliding his hands over the sensitive part of David’s rib cage. David squirms at the touch, but leans back into Patrick. “There is absolutely no part of you that is weak,” Patrick murmurs.

One side of David’s mouth lifts, exposing a little dimple. “That is the correct answer,” he coos.

Patrick huffs out a soft laugh, and leans in to kiss David’s dimple, then his lips. He feels David smile softly into his lips as he raises his ringed hand to cup Patrick’s cheek. It stays soft and gentle, just sweet brushes of their smiling lips.

“Speaking of spending time with each other’s parents,” David remembers, a bright smile on his face, “I love your mom.”

Patrick lights up completely. Marcy and David couldn’t be more different from each other, but they’re the two people Patrick loves most in this world. To know that they get along, that they adore each other nearly as much as Patrick adores the both of them, warms Patrick so completely, all the way down to his bones. “Really?” He confirms.

David nods emphatically. “Mhmm, I do,” he promises. It sends a shiver down Patrick’s spine. “She’s impossibly enchanting. I’ve never felt so welcomed, anywhere. Your dad, too, but I haven’t gotten a lot of one-on-one time with him.”

Patrick positively beams at David’s words. “He really likes you, too,” he nods. “He says he doesn’t get your clothes, but I think that’ll come with time.”

David smiles at the idea of Clint coming to understand and appreciate his choice in fashion, but mostly at the idea of knowing the Brewers for a long time. “Well, to be fair,” he whispers, “I don’t really understand his clothes, either.”

Patrick chuckles softly at David, shaking his head, fondly. He’s so overwhelmed by his love for David, and, once again, finds himself unprepared as he looks into his love’s eyes. “Man, I wish I didn’t leave your rings back home,” he mutters, unable to bite back his smile.

David’s brows raise halfway up his forehead. “Excuse me?” He gapes. “ ‘Rings’, plural?”

-

“High Society Extravaganza,” Major Mock articulates into the microphone. “The Category is High Society Extravaganza.” The ballroom cheers with his announcement, like they do with every category. Then again, this is a category everyone has been waiting weeks for. Anytime the bottoms of society can pass for the tippy top is a good time to be had. “I’m looking for the Upper Class at the soirée of the decade. I’m looking for expensive garments, heels that never get stuck in grates, and airs of superiority. I’m looking for opulence, bitch! I’m looking for the boys and girls who own everything. Ya’ll need to make me believe that you are the type to rub elbows with the likes of Escobar and Tsutsumi.”

It’s one of the last categories of the evening. Nearly everyone has arrived and is watching the ball. Even those who have collected their trophies have stayed behind in anticipation for this category. The Roses, of course, are late, bursting through the main doors just as Major starts his speech.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” David whispers, stressing about missing the only category they’re walking. He holds the door open for the House to rush inside and find a spot. “Let’s go, let’s go, we’re very fucking late!”

Patrick and Ted are on garmant rack duty, near the front of the line of Roses, with Waylon out in front to make way. Alexis is running just behind the rack, accessories piled into a bag thrown over her arm. The rest of the House trails like ducklings, with David at the rear, making sure no one is left behind. They push through the stragglers in the hallway, a shining flash down the halls as they find a corner to dress in.

“I told you we should’ve gotten dressed at home,” Cassie complains, yanking her dress over her head as soon as the House is secluded. She snatches the garment bag with her name on it and pulls out her perfect, red, silk dress.

Rusty had pulled out all the stops on the garments. They spent weeks putting everything together, with meticulous hemlines and stonework. Every spare moment they had was put into making all of this happen. Today, and really the main reason they’re so late, they’ve been focused on intricate flowers for bouquets and boutonnières. It was a lot of painstaking work, but it’s all worth it. Having this moment is worth it, the House all agrees. Patrick is so thankful for his House, and definitely not for the first time.

“That’s not helpful right now, is it, bitch?” Rusty bites, more stressed than the rest of them combined. He slides his red slacks on and quickly zippers them up.

They all dress faster than they ever have before. When they’re done dressing themselves, they help each other put their finishing touches on. It’s only by some minor miracle that no parts of the immaculate garments don’t get ripped, that no wrong articles go to the wrong people. Rusty has to adjust a few things here and there, but they look incredible. Alexis hands out bouquets to the girls, and Stevie puts boutonnières on the boy’s lapels. 

Out on the floor, individuals walk in their best finery. It starts with a no-House up-starter in a cream suit, pearls, and a matching hat. A young man follows after her in a dark gray, pinstriped suit, his shoulders set in an arrogant way that lets the ballroom know there’s no receipt for the ensemble. Beautiful but second-rate gowns and would-be millionaires saunter down the runway, but the judges seem to be unimpressed this evening. Not one competitor has scored a single ten. One poor girl starts down the runway in a ruffled, pink, poly-blend dress and pair of chunky mules that don’t take more than two steps before she’s being read for filth. She doesn’t even make it to the judges table before she leaves the runway.

“Disappointing,” Major sighs, shaking his head solemnly. “Never have I been so disappointed by a category. And I had such high hopes for this one! Does no one have anything to show us? Does no one want to invite us to their fancy dinner party?” But, through the gap at the mouth of the runway walks Eternity and Cassie. “Oh, shit, the Roses have arrived! I see the Legendary House is hosting a Red Party!”

Their arms are linked, and their dresses are in the same red silk, but they’re specially designed for each girl. Cassie’s shows off her cleavage and curves, while Eternity’s makes her look sleek and elegant. The crowd pitches up when they show their faces, a spotlight swiveling to shine down at them. They take slow steps, left foot forward, and joining their feet, then the right, and meeting their feet again, all the way until they get to the end of the runway. ”Oh, they walk with measured steps so you can see every inch of these gowns,” Major calls in praise. “Look at that stonework. Look at those fittings, bitch, those dresses were made for them. You could never fit, darling!” He claps between words for effect, showing that this is just how this category was meant to be walked.

Cassie and Eternity part from each other and split, unlocking elbows to stand on either side of the runway. When they part, Waylon and Lola are revealed to be at the end of the runway, arm-in-arm.

Lola is in her own version of the same, red silk dress, a high slit up the side to show off her long legs, with Waylon in a perfectly tailored suit made of the same material. They walk with the same, precise steps, showing off with every little millimeter they move. A handful of children in the ballroom start to understand what’s happening, but most are just enjoying the immaculate fashions an beautiful crystal work embedded into the clothing. The two of them join the two girls, already in place, standing slightly closer to the middle on either side.

A few more onlookers put two and two together when Stevie and Rusty emerge, in the same, customized dress and suit, taking the same, slow steps. “Oh, I see what’s going on here!” Majorly tells, his excitement catching on like a wildfire. “Now, tell me, is it appropriate to sing the bridal march if there’s no bride?” And, from there, everyone knows just what’s happening. “If this is what the best men and women look like, I can’t begin to imagine what the Princes must look like on this evening.”

Ted and Alexis make a slow saunter down the runway, looking dazzling as ever. They embody the idea of being the center of attention at the grandest party of the year. The crowd cries for them, for the emotional moment they’ll all beat witness to.They meet their brothers and sisters at the end and stand in their spots, turning to watch, just in time, as Patrick appears at the mouth of the runway.

Patrick wears a sleek, black suit, with a red silk tie that matches the color that the rest of the House wears. He buzzes with excitement and joy, but tries his hardest to not let it show. In an attempt to act casual, he brushes the sleeves of his perfect suit, begging everyone to notice its craftsmanship. Slowly, he starts his descent down the aisle, ready to take these steps.

“Here comes the groom!” Major sings loudly, just barely audible through the mic over the pitch of the crowd. As excited as Patrick feels, it’s nothing compared to the energy of the room. “Ready to bloom! Look at him! He’s a movie star! He’s giving you Dream Prince Realness, baby!”

Patrick can’t help but beam. He’s so happy to be having this, with all these people that he loves, that love him right back. The faces that smile so brightly at him are beautiful and unique, and Patrick is blessed to have their attention. He’s honored to share his happiness with them. His movements down the runway are precise and measured, unwilling to make any wrong moves. It’s still a category to be won.

He stands at the end of the aisle, beside Ted, and beams up at Major Mock. The emcee smiles right back down at Patrick. “And where is the other man of the hour?” He asks Patrick into the microphone.

Patrick turns his head down the runway, and sees David, and his heart stops, just for a moment. As soon as it comes back to life, it’s going into overdrive, pounding against the inside of Patrick’s rib cage. David looks so gloriously handsome in his suit that perfectly matches Patrick’s. He looks like something straight out of a magazine, perfect and statuesque. Patrick thinks the suit looks much better on David than it does on himself, but how could he possibly focus on that right now? David, the man of his dreams, is in an impeccable suit and slowly walking towards him with a confident, joyful smile toying with his lips.

“And here he is,” Major announces, waving a hand at David. “Our beloved Prince, looking more gorgeous than he has any right to. Patrick, baby, you’re a lucky man.” Patrick can’t do anything but agree with that statement.

While David starts with his signature half-grin on his face, as he makes his descent down the aisle, surrounded by the love of the ballroom and walking towards his future, David can’t help but smile, a bright, gorgeous smile that always leaves Patrick breathless. His eyes are misty by the time he’s halfway up the runway. The invisible tether between them tightens, and Patrick can’t stop his feet from meeting David, one hand extended.

David smiles even brighter at Patrick and takes his hand, their fingers locking together. Patrick takes in the sight of David’s dimples, smiling fondly at them for the first time in the ballroom. He has to force his eyes away from David and over to Major as they take the few steps to join their wedding party.

“Will you do the honors?” Patrick asks up to Major.

Major puts his hand over his heart and takes a small step back from his podium, moved by the request. He has to take a moment to pull himself together after being asked to be such a big part of this. “Dearly beloved,” he says into the mic, and the ballroom yells in exuberance. Never before has there been a Ballroom Wedding. “We’re gathered here today to watch this Legendary House take over a category the way they’re supposed to.We’re gathered to bear witness to these two men sharing the romance of a lifetime, to witness their union in the closest thing to Holy Matrimony we get.”

Patrick grins wildly at Major’s words, turning to look at David. He squeezes the hand in his own, and David takes a tiny step toward him, like there’s too much space between them. Patrick takes one, too, never wanting to be too far from David ever again.

“Real love isn’t something a lot of people get, especially for us,” Majors says. “Watching these two fall in love gives me hope, it shows me that it’s out there for all of us. Watching someone I’ve known for a very long time open themself up to the experience of being truly loved is more inspiring and beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard a million times that love is painful and difficult, a long walk into the dark that only fucks you up, and I believed it. I believed it, until, one evening, a young man in blue walked into my ballroom and snagged everyone’s attention, especially David’s.” Patrick feels like his cheeks might split from how wide he smiles, but he thinks it may be worth it, if his current happiness gets to be permanently etched into his features. “My mind was changed. I could see that this thing between them isn’t the usual bullshit, it’s the real stuff, it’s that good good. I knew from the start that we might end up here, and now, here we are, getting share this moment with you.

“So, if any of y’all motherfuckers got any good goddamn reason that these two should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace,” Major continues, very aggressively. The ballroom quiets down. Major points his finger at the bar. “Don’t start with that shit, bitch, get the fuck out of here.” Patrick looks over in the direction of the pointed finger and sees Sebastien, holding up his hands defensively. Patrick fails to suppress a snicker, which only succeeds in one from David. There’s a moment or two of silence, other than the music. “Nobody? Nothing? Good!” Major looks down to David and Patrick expectantly, and Patrick takes that as his cue.

Patrick looks back to his groom and loses himself a little bit in David’s eyes, his smile, his everything. He was never one to dream of getting married, but he’d been dreaming of this look on David’s face since the first night they met. “I, Patrick, take you, David, to be my husband,” he starts, and it pulls a few hoots and hollers from the crowd, “to have and to hold, forever and ever, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part.”

David beams at Patrick’s words, brighter than the sun. “I, David,” he starts, but there’s suddenly too much noise when he starts speaking for him to continue. The ballroom cheers that their favorite Prince has found his happily ever after. Patrick laughs, and David laughs, too, they can’t help themselves. They feel far too giddy. Patrick steps a little closer to his groom, and David shifts closer with him. Patrick leans in to brush their noses together, too happy to not touch him in this moment. David nuzzles against him, chuckling breathlessly, eyes closed in bliss. Eventually, when the ruckus starts to die down, David stands up straight and starts again. “I, David, take you, Patrick, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, forever and ever, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part.”

Major sniffles softly, then shakes his head quickly with a loud exclamation forcing emotions back. “Y’all got rings, I know you do,” Major says, an emotional lilt to his voice.

Remembering the order in which things go, David and Patrick turn back to Alexis and Ted, who have been keeping their rings safe since before they left the apartment. Ted grins like a maniac as he hands Patrick the four gold rings he picked out for his groom. He slides one onto David’s middle finger, and then one down his ring finger. “With these rings, I thee wed,” Patrick says, softly, sliding the third ring onto the ring finger, letting it rest above his second knuckle, then the last on his pinky finger. He lifts David’s hand to his lips and kisses the space between the two rings on his wedding finger.

David sniffles softly, and when Patrick meets them, his eyes are dewy with emotion. He shakes himself out, slightly, then grabs Patrick’s hand. He slides the golden ring onto Patrick’s finger, and everything feels so distant. Alexis, over David’s shoulder, looks like she’s a mile away. The music fades, until all he hears clearly is David’s voice.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” David announces, proudly, just loud enough to be heard.

“Well, by the power vested in me by this podium and microphone equipment, I pronounce you ‘husbands’!” Major Mock yells, and the ballroom is overjoyed by this news. “You can kiss each other.”

Patrick chuckles, but pulls David in to kiss him. Their first kiss as husbands is soft, with both pairs of lips being smiled into. They pull back just an inch to look at each other. A laugh bubbles out of David, and Patrick is completely done for. Patrick wraps him up in his arms and dips him, kissing his lips sweetly. David maneuvers his arms around Patrick’s neck and deepens their kiss as much as he can, though his wide smile makes it difficult. The rest of the world melts away, nothing else matters to them in this moment. Patrick slowly pulls back, barely an inch, and smiles down at his husband for the first time. David smiles back, then opens his eyes to look at Patrick. At the sight, Patrick’s heart begins to race, but in the best possible way.

“I love you,” David whispers, and it lays itself against Patrick’s lips.

Patrick smiles as he dips the rest of the way in to kiss David again. “I love you,” he mumbles into their kiss. David smiles into Patrick’s lips and pulls himself upright again, but doesn’t break their kiss until they’re both standing tall.

The world comes back with thunderous applause. Patrick can’t do anything but give a happy laugh, and David quickly joins in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present for the very first time, Misters David and Patrick Rose, Legendary Fathers of the Grand House of Rose!” Major calls loudly, his voice bursting with excitement. His announcement only increases the animated commotion in the ballroom. All of the Children are sharing in their happiness. Beside them, the House of Rose cheers the loudest. Patrick looks from the ballroom to his new husband and can’t remember ever feeling so happy.

Instinct, and his having attended many a wedding, makes Patrick want to skip back down the runway, but David is turning to face the judges. The Roses all follow suit, awaiting their scores.

“Oh, are we still doing this?” Major asks, in surprise. “Fuck, y’all made me forget what category we’re even on. Judges, do I need to ask for your scores?”

All five cards raise up at once, no hesitation.

“Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten!” Major yells into the microphone, though, he’s so loud, he probably wouldn’t need it, even over the joyous roar of the ballroom. “Grand Prize, House of Rose!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s all folks! I love you tremendously!


End file.
